Inheritance - Sequel to Shelter
by Queenie Mab
Summary: Something is not right with the world; monster activity has declined and heroes are starting to be thought of as irrelevant by the gods, but stirrings in the Underworld coupled with a stricter Olympus makes the resultant peace tentative at best, and it will take a voice of reason and courage to make the call for true peace heard lest the world fall into chaos under the guise of ord
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters and themes are the property of Rick Riordan from the world of Percy Jackson and the Olympians. I am not making any money from this work of fiction. I'm just playing around in his sandbox.

A/N: Welcome to the sequel of Shelter. It has finally begun! If you haven't read the first half of this series, you may want to. I am planning to write it so that it can stand on its own, though you may miss references to events that take place in Shelter, and the Shelterverse one-shots: Atonement, Devotion, and Fulfillment.

It is my goal to write and post as I finish the chapters as I did with Shelter, so your feedback will be taken into consideration if you choose to leave any. Let me know what parts of the story strike a chord with you, what makes you feel iffy, what you hope to see happen, etc... I love to have a back and forth conversation with readers and Apollo is my muse. He likes to hover behind my shoulder and whisper what happens next into my ear as I type, and has also been known to talk to readers in the comments when he can't keep quiet about something.

Rated mature for future content. There will be smut, though I will warn in the chapters where it occurs.

Fasten your seat belts, folks, this is gonna be epic!

XxxX

The Stirring

Dirt trickles from the cavernous roof above, short streams of it followed by the eerie creaking of the structural supports settling. The dim glow of the green flame torches set into the walls doesn't make seeing through the dirty fog rising from the floor any easier.

Hades glares at the ceiling from his throne of bones, tapping his long white fingers on the end of the armrest, and then at the doors opening before him, displacing more dust. He narrows his eyes, cold and dark as tunnels as his refugee nephew flutters into the throne room, sending the clouds of dust newly wafting with his dratted winged sandals and hat.

"Lord Hades," Hermes says, touching down at last. "I have news."

Hades slouches in his throne, forcing himself to appear to be absently stroking his beard, rather than yanking on it with the frustration building inside him. "What is happening?" he spits, clipping his syllables.

Hermes wipes his brow, leaving a dirty smudge in the streaked sweat. He masters his face. The news cannot be good for Hermes to appear so serious. "Dedalus reports structural failures in the overpasses in Asphodel. He insists it isn't the materials, but the ground itself. The souls don't appear to realize anything is amiss, and he's having the time of it shuffling them through to prevent traffic jams. The processing for new arrivals is backed up the bank of the Styx …

"My lord," a new voice calls from the open doorway, carrying deep and low across the dark expanse of the bronze floor.

"What is it, Minos?" Hades demands, voice sharp as diamonds.

"We have a problem, my lord. The pavilion of judgement still stands, though the pillars are showing strain as if they're being forced upward. I do not know how long it will be before the roof gives way…"

"And?" Hades taps his fingertips once more upon his armrest. "The fields of punishment?"

Minos clears his translucent throat with a sound like churning gravel. "I am not positive. As the situation stands, none of the guards I have sent to check their status have returned. The fields nearest the castle appear to be intact, but the pit …We do not know how it is faring."

Hades flares his nostrils, pounding his fist. "Where is that insufferable janitor? Bob! Iaptus?" His voice rumbles through the throne room, sending more streams of dirt cascading from above.

A vibrating sound interrupts the silence that follows and Hermes pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. He pushes a button and holds it to his ear for a couple of seconds, then turns it off again with a weary sigh. "Lord Hades."

Hades tightens his lips, one black eyebrow twitching, and dismisses Minos with a long pointed finger. When they are alone again, save for the pair of skeleton warriors at the doors, he hisses. "What is it now?"

"It's bad. Asclepius, you instructed him to carry a message to Apollo through the dreams of his son, he was intercepted by, er … the man upstairs. Asclepius is in Tartarus. He was instructed to use his last phone call to send us a message. Monster activity in the world above has slowed to a crawl; the heroes have little to fight as the lord of the skies has commanded, and…" He takes a deep breath and releases it before continuing. "…and if either of us put a toe outside your kingdom, we are also to be cast into the pit."

Jets of blue-black flame shoot from Hades's eyes, incinerating an altar made from human skulls until only ashes remain. "How dare he–"

The air shimmers above the small golden throne beside Hades as Persephone materializes. "My lord," she says, bringing with her a breath of fresh air. She gives the throne room a cursory look, frowning. "I was expecting a little more pomp to celebrate my arrival."

Hades closes his eyes, reining in his anger. He opens them again and turns to face her. "Why have you come so early, love? It is not yet time for your descent."

She wrinkles her forehead and looks the Lord of the Dead over as if checking his sanity. "But it is. It's the 23rd of September and I am right on time."

Hades looks to Hermes, a sharp eyebrow raised.

Hermes lifts his cell phone and the antennae extends. "Martha. How long have we been down here?"

_"Ohhhh, my head spinssss. Must you leave the vibration mode on all the time?"_

_"Be quiet, George. Hermes needsss us. We've been underground for two years. It's nearly October again."_

_"Isss it? I think it tastes more like November."_

Hermes shuts off the phone and stashes it in his pocket. He gives Hades an apologetic glance. "They're not used to being cooped up in my pocket," he explains. "But time. And all the shifting…" He doesn't complete his sentence.

"It may be as I fear," Hades says, his voice reverberating off the walls.

"What is it?" Persephone asks, trepidation lacing her words.

"The remnants of Kronos have been consumed by Chaos, sucked into the vacuum and with him time. Time is spinning out of order." He closes his eyes, stretching out his power so a shiver races through the very walls. "I sense a force putting up resistance, but it's weakening. I must divert all my power to assist, though it will only prolong the inevitable."

"S-sucked into Chaos?" Hermes stammers, blinking as if he can't quite grasp the concept.

"But that means…" Persephone starts, and leaves off, gazing at the roof of the cavern with eyes wide with fear.

"Yes," Hades says, opening his eyes again. They stand out against his pale skin like icy shards of obsidian. "My baby brother is an idiot. Tartarus stirs.

XxxX

Nico wakes with a start, a sheen of cold sweat bathing him, the sheet clinging to his body. He lifts a hand to his face and scrubs the sleep from his eyes, his heart pounding against his ribs. His father is in trouble. He should be there helping him any way he can. Heart sinking, he sits up and peels the sheet from his chest, grimacing at how gross he feels. Will isn't going to like it. He climbs out of bed, pulling the bedding off along with him and tossing it in the corner for washing, then goes to the bathroom.

After a piss and a shower, he's starting to feel vaguely human again. He studies his reflection in the mirror, eyes blinking. The face looking back at him – it's him, but changed somehow, not quite what he expected. He opens the medicine cabinet and takes out his shaving cream and razor, his mind catching up with itself. _Downloading missing data._ As he scrapes the stubble from his face, he wonders where in Hades that idea came from. When he finishes, he looks at his face again, noticing the differences. He's not nearly as gaunt as he had been, the lost look in his eyes gone. _The remnants of Kronos have been consumed by Chaos, sucked into the vacuum and with him time._

Nico shivers, trying to shrug off the vestiges of his nightmare. It clings to him like a cobweb, sticky and hard to displace. Two years, he thinks. Has it really been _two years_ since Hermes and Asclepius had gone underground. Had he known them going underground had literally meant _underground?_ No. He shakes his head at his reflection. This is news to him. Maybe Will knows something about it.

He returns to the spacious cabin and opens the curtain, squinting as the morning sun shines directly into his eyes. Will's probably either having his morning jog or practicing his archery from Apollo's chariot. The sunbeam grows at the thought, flooding his face with heat. "You asshole," Nico says aloud. He closes the curtains again. That's that question answered.

As he pulls on his clothes and straps his swords to his belt, the sense that something is just not right prods his brain as if starting a migraine at the base of his skull. Tartarus is stirring? What does that even mean? The monsters within the pit are building their forces, preparing to attack the upper worlds or worse – Tartarus, the primordial being is stirring?

He shakes his head again, attempting to dislodge the growing suspicion. There's no sense in panicking, at least, not yet. There has to be a bigger picture, a way to put it into perspective.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The Chapter title and song lyrics are from Closing Time by Leonard Cohen

XxxX

Closing Time

The big house is always quiet in the fall. Nico blends in with the long shadows stretching down the hall where Chiron and Mr. D have their rooms. The shadows feel almost thicker than usual and he can't shake the sense that he doesn't belong. It's not quite the same as it had been after he'd discovered the truth of how many years had passed while he and Bianca were at the Lotus Casino, but the sensation is similar enough to drive him to talk to the camp director about it … or to try to.

As he approaches the open door at the end of the hall, a horrible sound fills his ears. Mr. D, singing to himself.

_"Ohhh, the women tear their blouses off and the men they dance on the polka dots, and it's partner found and it's partner lost and there's hell to pay when the fiddler stops ... It's clo-o-sing time..."_

He lingers, wondering if this may not be a bad time. Perhaps when Apollo comes to take over as director, he could bring it up with him instead.

"Okay. I know you're there. You might as well show yourself."

Nico cringes, coming closer, ready to step out of the shadows and through the open door when Zephyros shimmers into existence already standing in the room. "You caught, me," he says, laughing. "How's it going, Dionysus?"

Mr. D pauses in packing his suitcase. He's dressed in his usual purple leopard spotted hawaiian shirt, but has opted for purple exercise pants as well and with his belly pooching out, he screams _grape_. He glances at Zephyros and shrugs, then continues tossing clothes, books, wine glasses, and a number of other odds and ends into his suitcase. No matter how many items he adds, it's never full.

"Zephyr, I ought to have known you'd be by sooner or later. Eros mentioned at the Solstice he'd let you off your leash. I'm on my way out, back to Olympus. You may accompany me if you wish to talk along the way, but I don't like to keep Ariadne waiting."

Zephyros smiles, his russet-colored wings wafting grape scented air into the hall as Mr. D takes up his song again.

_"Ah we're lonely, we're romantic and the cider's laced with acid and the holy spirit's crying 'where's the beef?' And the moon is swimming naked and the summer night is fragrant with a mighty expectation of relief…"_

"You know what _He's_ doing don't you?" Zephyros asks, hovering casually at the foot of the enormous bed. Nico thinks he looks as he usually does, relaxed, unconcerned, but he gets the sense Zephyros would only talk to Mr. D if he was asked to or if he was worried about something.

Dionysus raises an eyebrow and makes a face to show he doesn't give a damn.

"He's methodically reducing the power of influence of each of his sons. You are one of them."

Mr. D closes his suitcase with a snap and looks at Zephyros, annoyed. "_Should_ I care? I don't. The facts speak for themselves. Hermes and Apollo have ceased trying to oneup each other overpopulating the world with their godling brats; Ares pretty much accepts his lot and Aphrodite keeps him stable, and as for me, Father reduced my sentence by half, and Apollo's punishment reduced it by half again. I'm free to see my wife for the off season. Mhm … The monsters have quieted down so there's no need for nonsensical quests, even less need for heroes … 'He who submits to fate without complaint is wise', as the saying goes and I'm not going to complain."

"Yes, I see," Zephyros says and Mr. D starts to sing again as he shuffles into his sandals.

_"So we struggle and we stagger down the snakes and up the ladder to the tower where the blessed hours chime. And I swear it happened just like this: a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss. The gates of love they budged an inch. I can't say much has happened since..."_

"He wasn't always like this, you know. I remember back during his cup-bearing days, I thought for sure Zeus would claim the title of the god of theatre."

Dionysus gives Zephyros a hard glare and Zephyros raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Hey, not that you don't fill the role well. I'm just saying that the whole power thing changed his personality after a while. Ganymede is pretty much the only one to see that side of him now." Dionysus continues to pack, but Nico can see his ears perking up in interest. "I know because he used to come by my place in Salona whenever Hera was up in arms." Zephyros sighs. "But that's not really what I came to talk to you about, I'm sure you know that."

Mr. D harrumphs and puts his hands on his hips. "I'm not aware of any reason why you feel the need to have a little catch up chat." Nico can tell he's lying by the redness of his nose. "Honestly, my time is short and I really should be saying goodbye."

"So you don't want to talk about how odd it is that when we woke up this morning it was time for you to leave camp and the last thing I recall before going to sleep earlier was that it should have been the morning when you first arrived? Plus a couple of years."

Nico's mind boggles. So it isn't just him. He really was only fifteen when he fell asleep and two years have passed since then. He flushes, thinking back over some of the events his memory seemed to have caught up on, though the idea of not having really experienced them ... Well, the time Hazel had walked in while Will and he were playing doctor... He's sort of glad to have skipped over that.

Dionysus draws Nico's attention again as he waves off Zephyros's concerns as if shooing a fly. "So time is a little out of whack. It's not my problem, doesn't really matter in the long term. I have access to my memories of what happened, so really it's more like using a cheat code to get to the next level in a video game." He picks up his suitcase and tilts his head at Zephyros. "You're not usually concerned with these minor hiccoughs. Was there something else? Want me to put in a good word for you on Olympus, let them know you're job hunting?"

"Please don't," Zephyros says, lighting on his feet on the shag carpeting. "I have an engagement already." He tosses a look towards the door and before he has a chance to see anything, Nico dissolves the rest of the way into shadow.

XxxX

Nico steps back into the real world at the bottom of the big house's front stairs, his mind still reeling.

__I'm seventeen. Two years have flown by. Hades knows what's causing it and he's confined to his kingdom. I have to help him. He said he needed to divert all his power to …__

His mind goes blank. _To what?_ Something about time and stirring. He makes his way to the arts and crafts cabin and sinks onto the porch steps, trying to recall the details of his dream.

"Nico! Hey!" A young girl's voice.

He looks up in time to see Will descending on a beam of sunlight, but he's not alone. Nico shades his eyes with his hand as Will and his youngest sister touch down. A car engine roars and the sunbeam mellows and dissolves into normal daylight.

Will releases Liz's hand and jogs up to sit beside Nico on the porch. He wraps his arm around Nico's back, tucking his hand into Nico's back pocket. His touch is hot even through the denim. He plants a kiss on Nico's cheek and Nico finally meets his eyes. They're narrowed.

"You're freezing. Nico? Are you feeling okay?"

Liz sits on the step next to his feet.

"Yeah. I'm needed in the Underworld. I think my father is in trouble."

Why is the world getting so fuzzy, the colors all blurring together? Nico wonders, and Will's startled face seems to dissolve in a swirl of yellow, blue, and gold.

And then there is only black.


	3. Chapter 3

It Feels Like Magic

He's back in familiar territory, the realm between sleep and death. This time though, he's weak. Normally being here regenerates him, but now … He grips the trunk of a black poplar with both hands and pulls himself to his feet, his knees threatening to give out. He rests a moment with his back against the tree, taking in the landscape. Everything is grey or black as usual, a web of shadows and mystery. The voices from his past, his suffering, cry for his attention, but he focuses instead on the mist slowly thickening around him. It's bluish, but still grey, and as it grows the realm appears to shrink, to alter. Some sort of magic at work. He closes his eyes a minute, trying to pull himself together enough to move.

__I don't have the energy to deal with this shit. Why do things like this always happen to me? I'm like a weird magnet.__

When he opens his eyes again, the mist has coalesced into a thick fog. He squints, barely able to see a couple of feet in front of himself.

_Nico! Don't ever scare me like that again!_ Bianca had called after they'd been separated at the Mall in Washington D.C. _Why would you do that?_ Will had asked, so full of disappointment, and then he'd chewed him out. _Run, Nico! Get help!_ Percy had called, and he had closed his ears and shouted: _No! Go away!_ and then, entirely creeped out as the skeleton warriors were swallowed by the Earth, Percy had said: _How did you –"_ and Nico had run.

His past grows louder, surrounding him, the fog pushing him back into it until …

"Nico! Is that you?" Hazel's voice.

A path clears amidst the fog. He pushes himself off the tree and stumbles toward her, his heart hammering in his chest. He swipes the fog off himself and with it, his past, as if shedding a snakeskin. He flings his arms around Hazel half expecting her to disappear like an illusion, but when his arms wrap around her shoulders, her wild curls brushing his cheek, he buries his face in her shoulder and holds on tight, relieved as anything when she hugs him back.

"Do you know why we're here?" Hazel asks.

"No," he admits and releases her. "It's so good to see you, though." He feels his strength returning, not even trying to hide how glad he is to not be alone.

She smiles at him, and then looks to the side. Nico follows her gaze. The fog has retreated and the dreamscape changed. To the left, right, and directly before them are the entrances to three dark tunnels.

"Oh no. I know what this is," Hazel says, her hand going to her belt. Her cavalry sword is missing. Her eyes take on a dark and focused gleam.

Nico reaches for his sword, also coming up empty. "What is it?" he asks, keeping his voice low

"Hecate."

As if Hazel's voice acts an incantation, the goddess steps out from thin air, her long golden hair draped over one shoulder and her skin as white as death. Her solid black eyes fix on them and her lips, painted red, the only color on her face, turn up in a smirk.

"My young apprentice. _You_ understand why you are here, of course." She blinks and turns her attention to Nico, frowning. "Unlike this young man, so saddled with the grudges of his past it's a wonder he's able to stand on his feet."

Nico grits his teeth. He knows better than to talk back to a goddess, but damn, that was a low blow.

"What do you have against Nico?" Hazel demands.

"It's alright," Nico says. He touches her arm, signalling for her to calm down.

Hecate doesn't appear to take offense to the question. She shrugs, and Nico blinks his eyes several times as she steps closer to them. With each step her body blurs into three figures, but comes back into focus when she stops a few feet in front of them.

"I might question his taste in company. That's all. Those, like us, who draw power from the shadows shrink under the sun. I would wonder why you would knowingly lower your potential for growth."

Nico swallows back his immediate retort that what he does with his life is none of her business, and recalls Lou Ellen is one of Hecate's daughters. Would she say the same thing if Lou Ellen had taken up with Will?

"Lou Ellen thinks Will is a worthy friend," he starts, and then can't seem to stop from saying the rest of the words that spring to his mind. "Apollo himself has said he admires you, finds you compelling, or whatever. But with Will, my powers actually grow stronger."

He bites his tongue when he's finally able to shut his mouth. Too late, he thinks, because Hecate steps directly before him, her eyes boring holes into his, pinning him in place.

"Apollo himself?"

Unable to move, Nico stands frozen while Hecate touches his forehead with an icy fingertip.

Nico's memory of Apollo from the quest for the Oracle flashes through his mind and he realizes Hecate is witnessing it with him.

_Now, that's what I call a goddess. Talk about creative, and she's got that dark aura that just makes you want to get in there and find out what makes her tick._

When she lifts her finger and stands back again, Nico thinks her cheeks are slightly darker. She tilts her head as if she isn't really flattered. "I do suppose something can be said about opposites attracting, a certain magnetism." She sighs, and then a wicked gleam rises in her eyes, her lips twitching. "But after that stunt with Aphrodite's undergarments and that fluttering wind god … Apollo is going to have his hands full as it is." She waves her hands. "But, that is neither here nor there. To get back to business. Children of Hades …"

"And Pluto," Hazel interjects.

"Whatever. I am here on your father's behalf."

"What's happening to him? What sort of trouble is he in? I had a dream…" Nico starts, again his words tumbling out as if on their own until Hecate swipes her hand through the air and seals his lips like a zipper.

The goddess continues as if she wasn't interrupted and Nico scrabbles at his mouth with his fingers, making sure they haven't actually been replaced with a zipper. They haven't.

"You stand at the crossroads. There are three options before you and you must choose one before our visit ends.

"Why now?" Hazel asks and Nico nods at her in encouragement. "What is the purpose?"

Hecate exhales loudly, her eyes narrowing. Hazel's pushing her luck. Nico wonders if he should try to tell her to stop asking questions.

"Your father is conserving his strength and has asked me to stop up the leaks."

"The leaks?" Hazel repeats. "You mean Nico and I are drains on his power?"

Hecate shrugs as if to say, _whatever, sure that works,_ and then gestures to the first tunnel entrance. Instantly, it fills with color, people moving about, laughing and drinking while tantalizing aromas and music fill the cavern.

Nico shakes his head violently, and grabs Hazel's wrist as she tries to take a closer look. She looks at him, annoyed, but her eyes clear when she sees how he's pleading with her.

"What's the second choice?" she asks, deliberately looking away from the first tunnel.

Hecate gestures to the middle entrance and a room appears with two beds in it. A dark tree branch trickles opaque water into a basin on a nightstand between the beds, just like the Hypnos cabin at Camp Half-Blood. "Eternal sleep. You simply go to bed and live out your lives in everlasting slumber. It isn't a bad choice at all. And, should your father choose to wake you, he'll be able to."

Nico grips Hazel's wrist tighter and shakes his head.

"I know," she says with a shudder. "We'll pass. What is our next option?"

Hecate raises her eyebrows, almost as pale as her skin. "The only other option is to go back the way you came, but you must return without your Underworld powers. Hades would prefer that you not choose this path because he cannot protect you, but it is your choice, of course."

Nico thinks Hecate sounds as if she's unimpressed with what Hades has instructed her to tell them. Like she's suggesting Hades is going soft.

Hazel shakes her head. "But this isn't right. There should be another choice. The third tunnel…" She points at the tunnel entrance to their right. "You didn't reveal it."

"I know. I meant to gloss over it out of … um … consideration. Unfortunately it is no longer an option for you. As Hades is a fugitive of Olympus, Zeus will not allow him to make you his immortal lieutenants."

Nico stamps his foot and Hecate waves her hand at him, yawning. His mouth unzips. He works his jaw a few times to make sure he has control over it once more and swallows the bitter taste of being forced to make such a choice. "I want to talk to my father. I want to help him."

"So do I," Hazel adds immediately.

Hecate flares her nostrils and smoke comes out of them. "I have already told you that choice is closed."

"I'm willing to do it without immortality."

"Yes, we should be allowed to help as demigods," Hazel finishes.

Hecate's voice grows low and dangerous, like she's talking in a second voice deep down in her chest, her true voice, not quite revealed. The cavern shudders and rains dusts as she speaks. "If you will not choose one of the options open to you, I will choose for you. And my choice will be to send you to the Lotus Casino. Make your decision by the count of three. One … Two … Thr–"

"We'll go back," they answer together.

Hecate's lips stretch into a grin too large for her face and Nico's hand is ripped from Hazel's wrist as they rise off the ground. "Iris message me," Hazel calls, her voice growing faint as they're hurled from the dream realm and back to their waking bodies.


	4. Chapter 4

The Second Hand Unwinds

Nico is slow to gain awareness. The first inkling he has that he's no longer dreaming is the warmth. He's practically burning up. The next thing he realizes is why he's so hot. A voice vibrates against his back, humming a quiet hymn. Will. He smiles and savors the moment, Will's bare chest radiating heat and healing, his scent familiar and welcome to Nico's nose. But then he recalls where he's just been and the severity of what the choice he and Hazel were forced to make.

_… you must return without your Underworld powers._

He opens his eyes a crack, wincing as he realizes he's not in his own cabin but in the big house infirmary. _Great. Just what I need._

He shifts, trying to separate himself from Will enough to clear his head.

"Aha! Looks like we've got a live one!" Apollo's voice.

Nico screws up his face, and groans into his his pillow. "Will, why do you always have to crawl into bed with me when people are going to walk in?"

Another voice chimes in, Will's youngest sister. "Yeah, Apollo. We should give them some privacy."

Will chuckles and yawns, rolling onto his back, though it doesn't seem to lessen the heat coursing through Nico's body. "C'mon, you know you heal faster when we're skin to skin." He rises up on his elbows, taking half the sheet with him. "When did you guys get here?"

Nico pulls his pillow over his face. Maybe he'll suffocate and the embarrassment will end. He's thankful he's at least wearing his jeans. Nothing quite like waking up to the sunshine family reunion.

"Just came by to check on you. I've been showing Liz the ropes around camp. She's gonna be a force to reckon with, I'm telling you. Shoots a bow with the same grace as Artemis."

"That's fantastic, Liz," Will says. Nico yanks the sheet back to cover his shoulders, and pulls his pillow even tighter over his head, trying to block out the light. Will's voice is muffled, but he can still hear him. "We'll meet you in the rec room in half an hour. I just want to make sure he's feeling okay."

"Sure thing," Apollo says, entirely too cheerfully for Nico's tolerance, and worse, he can hear him perfectly clearly as if Apollo's letting him know that even pillows won't keep him hidden from the camp director. "C'mon, kiddo, and what happened to calling me dad? You used to."

Nico loosens his grip on his pillow so he can hear them leave. "You looked older before, but now you're like Will. It feels weird to call you dad." Liz's voice grows fainter as she and Apollo head down the hall.

When they're alone, Will sinks back on the bed and spoons up behind Nico. He pulls the pillow off Nico's face, then splays his hand across Nico's sternum, pulling them back to chest.

Nico feels his face flush even hotter when Will kisses the side of his face, the tops of his ears, and then shifts his hips, prodding Nico's backside with what feels like a very eager groin.

"Seriously?" Nico asks, though his body responds to Will's arousal without his permission. He turns in Will's arms, kissing back when Will peppers his lips with more kisses. "Is this really the time?"

Will stops, his eyes and lips turned down so he looks like a poor pathetic puppy who's just been told to stay down. "But Mr. D is finally gone. It's been forever…"

Nico cocks an eyebrow and glances at the door. Apollo is waiting to talk to them with Will's little sister hanging around. He looks back at Will.

"Yes..." Will says, grinning sheepishly as he forces himself to get up. "You're right. It's not the right time." He groans as he gets to his feet and starts rummaging through his backpack.

Nico smirks and throws the sheet back, starting to get up too, but Will stops him, holding up a hand. "What?" he asks. "I feel fine." Will reaches for Nico's wrist and takes his pulse, then lets go. "See?"

"Okay. But you did pass out cold for no apparent reason. You want to tell me what happened?" He tosses Nico his T-shirt and then starts rummaging again apparently looking for his own.

"Yeah, but," Nico starts. He pulls his shirt on, hesitating. "I only want to tell the story once, if it's all the same."

Will nods. "Aha!" he says, finding his camp T-shirt and shaking the wrinkles out. It strikes Nico how much older Will looks. Two years. His chest is bigger, his pecs more defined, like he's been working hard on building his strength. As Will pulls his shirt on, Nico stands up and checks his belt. His Stygian iron sword is back in its ring form. He sighs, relieved, and then looks up as Will comes over. Will presses a soft kiss to Nico's temple, then whispers beside his ear: "What about an answer to the question I asked you last night?"

Nico's mind whirls. He hasn't a clue what question Will is referring to, but it would probably not be the best idea to tell him that right now since Will doesn't seem to be aware of the lapse in time. He wonders if anybody other than himself, Zephyros, and Mr. D are aware of it. He searches his mind, trying to recall Will's question, but with two years worth of new memories to sift through, it's impossible to do without spending some time.

Will takes a step back and runs his hand down the side of Nico's face. Whatever the question was, it seems pretty important. Nico swallows past the lump in his throat. "Soon, okay?"

Will smiles and jerks his head towards the door. "Shall we?"

Nico gives Will's butt a pinch, then races for the door, Will hot on his heels.

XxxX

As they approach the rec room, Nico protects his smarting butt cheeks, his back to the wall. His boyfriend is malicious; though, he knew that before teasing him. Will grins and holds a finger to his lips, slowing his steps and then stopping.

Nico perks his ears, stopping behind Will in the shadowed hallway. A woman's raised voice comes from the rec room's open door.

"Would you open your eyes already? You are the only one who can _do_ something about it. He called Muscles before him, and then intimidated him to the point of torture! Little d seems to be the only one he's showing favor towards. I sometimes wonder if _he_ may be playing a part in …"

"Hold your tongue." Apollo sounds weary. "I will not hear any more. It isn't safe. It isn't sane."

Nico raises his eyebrows as Will turns toward him and mouths "Muscles?" at the same time Nico mouths "Little d?"

The only women, Nico thinks, that would dare talk to Apollo like that would have to be goddesses, but he has trouble figuring out which goddess it is. He looks to Will, shrugging as if to say, _who do you think that is?_

Will makes a heart with his hands – which Nico assumes refers to Aphrodite – and then points at the doorway. He raises his finger to his lips again. Nico nods in silent agreement that they should stay put and not draw attention to themselves while the goddess of love is tearing Apollo a new one. But that means 'Muscles' must be code for Ares so they don't attract Zeus's attention, and 'Little d' … Nico's lips twitch. Coming from Aphrodite, that must be Dionysus.

The goddess starts speaking again. "Tell me honestly that you do not see how it will all end if nothing changes."

Apollo answers almost the instant she pauses. "Why me? Why would you think I am more capable than your champion? He loves conflict; I loathe it. Let him be the one to take a stand."

The sound of a long exasperated sigh follows, and Aphrodite starts talking again. This time she sounds sad. "That's what I'm trying to explain. The big guy brought Muscles before him after installing a bronze jar beside his throne. The fire's gone out of his eyes. He came back to my place as meek as a mouse trembling under the blankets at the foot of my bed. There is no one better suited to the task than you are."

"Listen, lady," Apollo cuts her off, unmoved by the grief in her voice. "You think I haven't already been put in _my_ place? That I haven't learned where my boundaries are? Come and talk to me about this again after _you've_ had your spirit ripped in two, after you've been stripped of immortality and been made to serve a mortal. The Diva herself has pulled this same shit over on me enough times that I'm not gonna fall for it again, especially not from your charming lips. I've already tried and failed at the very thing you're asking. He's still not over it. Look at where I'm at now. Punished for another war that I honestly am not at fault for. Did any of you stand up for me? Do you really wonder why I don't stand up for myself any longer? I have learned from my past. I've lost enough. I am not your savior."

A chill runs down Nico's spine at the mention of the jar. He's never really thought about having anything in common with Ares, but eight days in the jar had nearly driven him mad, and if he recalls, Ares had been imprisoned in it for 13 months as a toddler. The idea Zeus would use that experience to intimidate … Nico's blood thunders in his ears. The sound of heavy breathing filters through his anger and he looks at Will. Will clenches his jaw, then wipes a tear from his cheek with a clenched fist as Aphrodite speaks again.

"Mark my words, Apollo. If you do not stand up for what is right, you will find yourself in a worse way than a lifetime serving a mortal."

Apollo says nothing. There seems to be a radio silence for several long moments, the tension of holding still, keeping quiet, builds between Nico and Will until something has to give.

Nico wonders if they should return to the infirmary and leave Apollo alone for now. Aphrodite has either left the room or ended an Iris message, however she was communicating.

Will is the first to move. He presses his lips tightly together, meets Nico's eyes, and gives a sharp nod. He walks determinedly into the rec room, leaving Nico little choice but to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

Supernova

When Nico follows Will into the rec room, Apollo is staring at the blank television screen. He's perched on the back of the couch, his hands limp on his knees and feet on the couch cushions.

"Dad?" Will says, then gives the room a quick glance. Nico meets his eyes, lifting his eyebrows, and then darts his gaze back to where Apollo heaves a long sigh. Will approaches. He sets his hand tentatively on Apollo's shoulder. "Where's Liz?"

Apollo sighs again and covers Will's hand with his own briefly before slipping off the back of the couch onto the cushions. He pats the space beside him and Will gestures for Nico to join them. Nico takes a seat on the smaller couch perpendicular to the one Apollo sits on and Will joins him.

It's a long moment before Apollo finally looks away from the screen and at them. He looks weary and almost humble – quite different than his usual happy-go-lucky nature. "I had Zephyr take her back home. I only meant to show her the camp, give her something to look forward to, you know?" He's quiet again, pensive.

"You want to talk about it? We heard the conversation with …"

Apollo stops Will from saying Aphrodite's name by raising his hand. "Most of that was ancient history. But …" He sighs again and stares at his feet. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to talk about it. It's really just more rehashing the same patterns that have been going on for eons. What I wouldn't do to have quiet life for once, settle down or something, be happy."

"They, the other gods, want you to rise up again?"

Apollo shrugs. "Didn't work out so well the last time they tried. We were all punished. Poseidon and I got the worst of it. Well, queen bitch had it pretty harsh, but she was freed pretty quickly."

"What happened?" Nico asks, surprising himself by asking that aloud.

Apollo looks at him and smiles, showing his bright personality isn't buried very far. Apparently showing an interest in him is all it takes to perk him back up. "Well, that was the second time I had my immortality stripped. It was only for a year, but it was a real drag. Poseidon had to fortify the walls around Troy by hand in service to the asshole Laomedon and I had to tend his sheep." He furrows his eyebrows, not meeting their eyes. "I know it doesn't sound so bad, but it wasn't enough for Laomedon to humiliate me with the loss of my power. He … took liberties with my new station and I don't like recalling them. But despite all that, he was also a swindler. He refused to pay us for our service when it was complete. So many people died for that idiot's foolhardiness. I sent a plague upon his city and Poseidon, a monster."

Nico studies Apollo. He senses a deeper suffering that Apollo hides from others with his youthful exuberance, but more than that, it seems Apollo's had time to process his wounds, to heal from them, and he's mostly just tired of dwelling in the past. Nico thinks he can empathize with that.

"Father's always been harsh on his godly sons, but I think he's singled me out as the one most in need of 'discipline'. I dunno. I've told you before he's repressed and it's eating him up on the inside, making him more like the tyrant his own father was. I wish I knew how to help him … how to diagnose what the root cause is and deal with it. I don't want to take his throne, I just want him to be the best ruler he can. He started out not so bad and even when it started to go downhill, it was still tolerable, but since the great prophecy happened, he started reining in his brothers too … and blaming my Oracle, misunderstanding how prophecies work …" Apollo stops talking a moment, then focuses on Nico, his bright blue eyes seeming to see beyond Nico's physical form. "You, Nico. You've got something on your mind, right? Something other than me and my daddy issues. Let's change the subject. Tell me what's up."

Nico shifts in his seat, only now realizing Will has draped his arm around Nico's back, his hand holding onto Nico's hip. He fights to keep from flushing or pushing Will away. The truth is that he loves it when Will cuddles with him, but the public aspect, right in front of Will's dad, it's not easy to get used to. Still, he needs to tell somebody what has been happening, and … he needs to test his powers. He's not sure what count as _Underworld_ powers and what may just be demigod abilities. He hopes to hell he still got something left, even if it is just hyperalertness in battle.

"The past couple of days," Nico starts, his voice growing less timid as he goes on, "I've had some dreams, visions of things happening. When I passed out earlier it wasn't for no reason; I was being summoned by Hecate. She was in the realm between dreams and death and Hazel was there too. Hecate said my father sent her to give us a choice." He takes a deep breath and releases it, fingers digging into his knees. "We could go to the Lotus Casino, choose an everlasting sleep, or come back to the real world without our Underworld powers. We chose to come back."

He doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath coming from Will while Apollo furrows his eyebrows. "I don't understand. Why would Hades want to take away your powers or separate you from the world?"

The dream from before seems to sharpen in Nico's mind, it had gotten fuzzy when Hecate summoned him, but he recalls it now. He meets Apollo's gaze and then stares at the floor. It's easier to share what he knows when not under such intense scrutiny.

"I had a dream. Hermes flew into my father's throne room and delivered a message to him. Basically Zeus had said that if he or Hades left the Underworld, they were to be thrown into Tartarus." Nico thinks back, absently rubbing the knees of his jeans. "Then Persephone showed up and Hades said it was too early for her yearly descent, but Hermes looked up the time and confirmed it was fall. Hades was really angry and said he thinks the remnants of Kronos got sucked into chaos through Tartarus." He looks back at Apollo, his forehead wrinkled in thought. "Did you know about that? I mean, I heard Zephyros and Mr. D talking about it, but …"

"What do you mean?" Will interjects. "I'm lost." He looks from Nico to Apollo for clarification.

Apollo remains silent, though he jerks his head for Nico to continue.

"I don't know why I seem to be the only demigod who notices, but it feels like the last two years just happened overnight." He catches the look Will throws at him, like he's seriously worrying about Nico's state of mind. Nico tries hard to not roll his eyes and resigns himself to telling Will the truth. "About the question you asked me, I don't recall it yet. I have access to my memories from the past two years, but they're all jumbled and it's hard to work out what happened when."

Will looks like he's been suckerpunched, but Nico can tell as Will searches his face for any sign of misunderstanding that he believes him.

"About Hermes," Apollo interrupts, still not saying anything about the time skip. "Asclepius was with him the last I heard …" He stiffens his posture as he waits for Nico to tell him more.

He's not sure what's going on with Apollo. If the selective conversation has anything to do with him being under control from Olympus, like he had been when they were beginning their quest for the Oracle or if it's something else.

"That's how Hermes found out about the threat of Tartarus. Asclepius was apparently trying to reach you, on Hades's behalf, through Will's dreams, but he was intercepted and made to send the message before getting thrown into Tartarus himself."

Nico's breath leaves him in a rush as Will knocks him to the floor, and rolls with him under the couch. The temperature rises, and even with Will blocking his view, the room floods with piercing light.

"Close your eyes," Will says, wrapping his arms around Nico and holding him so his face is buried against Will's chest.

Even behind his eyelids, he sees colors changing from red to orange and then yellow until they disappear into darkness. His heart hammers, pulse pounding in his temples, but Will's familiar smell and his weight pressing against Nico keeps him present.

"Can I open them now?"

Will twists as if looking over his shoulder, still holding onto Nico, and turns back again, his voice tender and sad. "Yeah. He's gone."

Nico opens his eyes. It's dark as if Apollo took all the light with him when he left. "What was that all about?" Nico asks. Apollo going supernova in front of two demigods in the rec room of the big house without a hint of a warning makes Nico uneasy.

"Let's go back to Hades cabin," Will says, "and I'll tell you what I know."


	6. Chapter 6

Phantom Pains

They step out onto the big house porch, shadows stretching across the green from the porchlight behind them and the lights from the cabins. Will takes his hand as they walk down the steps. "It's been a long time since we've had a night to ourselves."

Nico supposes that's true for Will, but right now he's more distracted by the shadows. They don't feel the same as they used to, like he's been disconnected. He furrows his eyebrows and continues to walk, slipping his hand free from Will's. He searches with the very limits of his awareness for the the faint hum of the shadows. He stretches the hand furthest from Will, palm down, calling to the bones he knows lie deep under the ground. There's no response, no tugging sensation in his arm.

He exhales, attempting to dissolve into the shadows falling over them with no success. It's odd. He can sense the power he's so used to tapping, but it's only a prickle on his skin not bone deep like before, like a phantom pain.

"You okay?" Will asks and Nico figures it's better to stifle his panic rather than getting Will worked up about it. They have more important things to worry about.

"I'm fine. C'mon."

They walk quietly side by side up the main row of cabins ending in cabin 13. He remembers wondering what it would feel like to be like other kids, to not have Underworld powers, to not exist on the fringes, looking in, alienated by the darkness inside him. He'd wondered if he would have given them up if he'd had the choice, but instead of feeling free from the darkness, he feels more tainted by it and abandoned than ever. His powers had helped mold him into who he is; they were how he'd protected himself and presented himself to the world. Now that they're gone, he's like a raw nerve, incredibly vulnerable.

They climb the steps of Hades cabin and Nico pushes the door open, numb. After Will closes the door, he stops Nico from moving any further by stepping in front of him so his back's against the door. "Wait a second. Please."

Nico swallows past the lump in his throat, pushing the feelings of loss down and trying to call up anger to replace them, but when he meets Will's eyes, he can't. The way Will looks at him, his eyes round, forehead wrinkled, oozing sympathy and concern, Nico simply can't muster any anger. He tries to change the subject instead. "We need to finish talking about …" He leaves off, trying to recall what it was they came here to talk about and failing.

Will shakes his head. "No. First, I think we just need to hug for a while."

Nico rolls his eyes, but doesn't fight it when Will pulls him into his arms, head resting on Nico's shoulder. He presses a kiss to Nico's neck and the grief begins to go numb. He hugs Will back, closing his eyes and breathing against his shirt, finding comfort in the closeness and the silence.

When he thinks his limbs have actually gone numb, Will murmurs against his skin. "Can I take you to bed?"

He flushes, unsure if Will meant that to sound like a proposition, but the invitation, whether to sleep, to talk, to cuddle, or even to mess around sounds a lot better than standing around feeling sorry for himself.

"Yeah."

XxxX

Nico rests his head on Will's chest, Will's arm wrapped around his back, holding him close. They've stripped to their underwear, Nico in his typical black boxers and Will, sporting purple briefs. But under the blankets in the dark with the green torches burning low against the walls, it doesn't matter what they look like.

"What do you think set Apollo off like that?" Nico asks, finally comfortable enough to talk.

Will sighs. "Well, you know how he's been more moody lately, the past year or so?"

Nico shrugs. When he tries, he can recall instances when Apollo had been uncharacteristically quiet, though it's odd, like he's looking at his memories through a microfiche reader at the Georgetown Library in D.C.

"I talked to Zephyros a couple of weeks ago. He said, in confidence, so don't even think about repeating this …" Nico looks up and gives Will the most innocent eyes he can, earning himself a small swat on his butt. He settles his head on Will's chest again. "He said Apollo was feeling emasculated. He's always prided himself on fathering demigod kids …" Nico rolls his eyes, thankfully out of Will's line of sight, "… and apparently he hasn't had any success making more for over two years. He's starting to wonder if, you know, the big guy has stripped him of that too. But honestly, I think it's a build up of eons of resentment and hearing Asclepius is in Tartarus just sent him over the edge."

"Mmm," Nico hums and waits for Will to keep talking.

"The first time he had his godhood taken from him was because of Asclepius."

Nico lifts his head again and looks at Will. "What happened? I studied Greek history when I was on my own for a few years, but I was focused on some of the other gods rather than Apollo. I didn't have a grudge against _him_."

Will runs his fingers through Nico's hair, sending little shocks running through his nerves. "Asclepius resurrected one of Artemis's friends and your father complained to the big guy, and he struck Asclepius with his master bolt to appease Hades. Since gods can't get even with each other outright, and Asclepius was one of Apollo's favorites, Apollo took it as another personal affront and killed the cyclopes who forged the master bolt to retaliate."

Nico's neck starts cramping. He nuzzles Will's chest, resting his head. "Yeah?"

Will pauses a moment longer and Nico listens to him breathe, his heart thumping under Nico's ear.

"As punishment, Apollo was made to live as a mortal for year. He had to serve as a cowherd for a king named Admetus. Thing is, he fell in love with the king, and, you know …" Nico's cheeks heat up, but he remains quiet. "Until the king wanted a wife and Apollo helped him find one. He continued their relationship for nine years, even after taking back his position as an Olympian, showered the king with blessings and even helped him weasel his way out of an early death. My dad's a bit of an idiot when he's taken with someone."

Nico smiles against Will's skin at that. "So that's where you get it from?"

Will smacks Nico's butt again, chuckling, and then falls quiet a minute. The torches seem to shrink even more, the fire barely reaching the tops of the sconces. "I think losing Asclepius again probably reminded him of all the old wounds, his failed attempts to find love, and all the other times his father tore him down."

Nico thinks he can empathize with Apollo even more now. Hades had torn Nico down a lot in the beginning, before he started standing up for himself and telling his father to own up to his own faults and make them right. And then, he'd gone and taken Nico's powers from him, his main defense against the evils in the world, and for what purpose? As far as Nico understood it, gods actually grow in power through their demigod children, so Hades's reasoning that he needed to conserve his power, that Nico and Hazel were drains on it makes no sense. He wonders if Apollo losing his immortality felt anything like he feels without his powers. His stomach sinks when he imagines it's probably a million times worse.

"Well, he's got Zephyros now. I bet he'll talk to him tonight and hopefully find some comfort, get his head back in the game," Will says, his voice deeper, vibrating through Nico's face.

Nico exhales heavily through his nose, blowing air over Will's chest. He smirks, watching Will's nipples grow stiff from the breeze. He runs his thumb over one of them absently, making Will moan softly, the vibrations arousing him this time.

Will covers Nico's hand with his and Nico looks up again. Will's eyes are intense and clearly blue despite the dark.

"The question I'd asked earlier … I'll ask it again. You don't need to answer right away."

Nico's heart beats faster, hammering against his ribs.

__Why am I so nervous? Can it really be so bad?__

"Okay," Nico says.

Will squeezes Nico's hip, and then pushes Nico's bangs out of his eyes with his free hand. "I want to know if you'll move in with me next September. I'm planning to go back to Oregon and do my pre-reqs for med school at OSU. It's a state college so there are loads of things you could study if you wanted to enroll too, but I … I want you to live with me, Nico. I'd like to have a place that's ours, a bed that's ours …"

It feels like his cheeks are on fire. That, or maybe his blood has turned to fire because he's hot all over. Will wants to live together, to have a home together. He wants to shout _YES_ and do a little victory dance inside his head, but it would look stupid and Will would laugh at him. And then the small voice in the back of his head starts nudging his conscience. Will has had two years to develop their relationship, to really grow it, and he missed it. He thinks he should probably work on catching up so they are really on equal footing. It blows his mind to think that he and Will have made it nearly three years together. But living together … that's like the gay equivalent to getting married, isn't it? That's always been how he understood things, though it could be that they could actually get married in today's world and living together is just like what everybody else does. He squeezes his eyes shut, telling himself to stop overthinking things.

Will pokes him in the side and he opens his eyes to find Will raising his eyebrows. "Just think about it, okay? You don't have to give me an answer right away. I'll wait, even if it takes months."

He nods as Will leans forward and rubs their noses together, fingers brushing Nico's hipbone and making his groin tighten like Will's flipped his on switch.

"How long _has_ it been?" he asks, moving his hand down Will's chest to his crotch, intensifying his arousal when he feels how hard Will is for him.

There's a tremor in Will's voice when he answers. "Six months. Since Mr. D came back for the summer."

Nico smirks. It hasn't been that long for him. He'd spent the night before the bizarre time skip experience with Will in his bed, but who is he to prolong his boyfriend's suffering? He gently squeezes Will's erection, and then Will hauls him on top of himself, covering his face in hungry kisses.

Before they lose themselves making out, a knock sounds at the door. Will groans.

Nico stiffens, panting. The knock comes again along with a voice.

"Nico?" It's Cecil, if Nico's hearing right. "I'm looking for Will. Have you seen him?"

"Just a minute!" Nico calls back. He climbs off the bed and finds his shirt, then pulls it on. Will looks like he wants to cry.

Nico finds Will's shirt on the floor and tosses it to him.

"We'll finish this later?" Will asks, his voice pleading.

"Yeah," Nico agrees, then realizes his boner is still obvious and he digs his bathrobe out of his closet. "If we don't finish later, don't be surprised if Cecil ends up in the infirmary next."

He slips on his bathrobe and answers the door while Will finds his pants. He switches from scowling to looking at Cecil in concern. "What happened?"

"Lou Ellen," Cecil says, his face pale and tear-streaked.

Will joins Nico at the door, and Cecil meets his eyes over Nico's shoulder.

"Lou Ellen won't wake up."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Summary: Switching to a new POV and a focus on the happenings on the west coast, we discover that the peace from the past two years of skipped time will not last much longer.

Voices In the Dark

**Rachel**

Rachel arches her spine, her head thrown back on the mattress, her thighs parted, knees up, hamstrings working overtime to steady her, and Reyna between them. Rachel cards her fingers through Reyna's hair, her heart races, close to bursting. It's been so long, too long … but now that Reyna has joined her at Berkeley, they won't have long months apart any longer.

Rachel's close, so close, shivering until cold is her primary sensation. The pleasure she chases is gone, her connection to Reyna sparking out like a blown fuse. She opens her eyes, her breath like smoke in the dark.

_What the hell?_

She's standing in a long windowless corridor, the walls made up of dark stone. Black flame torches illuminate the path at regular intervals, each casting purplish light upon altars of bones beneath them. An ancient voice, a familiar one, whispers in her mind.

_It's a prophetic dream. Pay attention._

She looks up as the ceiling creaks, showering dust into the air and clouding her sight as it catches in the light from the torches. She takes slow steps forward, kicking up more dust with each footfall, wondering where this corridor leads and why she's here.

Her spine prickles and every hair on her body stands on end as she senses a malevolent presence looming behind her. The shadows of the bone altars grow and stretch, an inky darkness expanding, and when she turns back, filling the corridor behind her until she can't see through it. She runs from it. Faster down the corridor, the shadows chase her toward a huge set of doors standing open. Skeletons in combat fatigues and carrying assault rifles guard them. Raised voices issuing from within the room become more distinct the closer she gets.

The skeletons stiffen, making her jump, then fall into battle positions, their rifles aimed. They seem to be aiming at the force behind her, and she races past them, seemingly invisible for all the notice they give her. She finds herself in a giant cavern filled with clouds of dust so thick it's hard to see through. Reaching blindly with her hands outstretched, she follows the voices.

"I know that it is not something you are comfortable with! Do you take me for a fool? But I see no other option. If we remain here, the palace will come down on top of us. It's taking all of my will to keep the infrastructure from falling apart. Do you want to imagine the world with the souls of the dead unbound?"

She moves closer to the voice. It's deep, powerful, and though it has a sharp edge to it, she trusts what it says.

She holds her breath when two figures come into view through the dust fog. The low glow lighting the room seems to emanate from them.

The one she heard speak is tall, lean, and dressed all in black, his robes billowing around his lithe frame and undulating with anguished faces barely discernible in the dark fabric. He can only be Hades, which means she's in the Underworld and behind him, rising from a raised platform stands his black throne of bones, a smaller throne, gilded with gold sits beside it, both piled with dust.

The other figure hovers in mid-air, his face smudged and caked with ash and grime. Hermes, she thinks he must be, judging by the golden winged sandals and helmet he wears. He's dressed like a businessman stripped to his shirtsleeves, his shirt open at the front and undershirt showing. It clings to his chest and smeared with dried golden ichor. His eyebrows are furrowed, his jaw twitching, and then a sound like crunching bones echoes from the corridor. The gods turn as one to face the doors. Hades pulls a long black sword from thin air, his helm of darkness tucked under his other arm while Hermes lands on his feet, his caduceus transmorphing into a giant iron cattle prod sparking with electric currents.

Neither of the gods take any notice of Rachel and she sprints past them, reaching the thrones and turning around to see what it is that has the gods ready for battle. She freezes, her mind screaming as pure inky darkness spills through the open doors like the tentacles of a gigantic octopus. They rise, pulling together into a massive shape that fills half the space in the throne room and towering upward toward the cavern ceiling over forty feet high.

The Oracle hisses in her mind, wrapping her in its dusty rasp and strangely, comforting her. _Observe, child. You must learn. Arm yourself with knowledge. Phoebus Apollo must be enlightened and it is your task to bear these events to him._

Her panic recedes. She reminds herself she's in a dream. She's not physically present in the room, though from what Hazel has told her, some goddesses can kill a person even in a dream.

She forces herself to look up as the darkness solidifies, its features indistinct, but the form is that of an enormous woman, humanoid, though very much _not_ human.

_It is Nyx,_ the Oracle whispers. _Primordial goddess of Night._

Nyx turns her face toward the gods, her eyes like stars, like solar systems, winking out and brightening again as she blinks.

"Nyx!" Hades bellows, his powerful voice tampered by the overwhelming darkness. "You should not be here. What is the point of a treaty if …"

"Ahhh," Nyx says, her voice surprisingly soft, though the power behind it overpowers the sound of Hades's voice, cutting off the end of his sentence. "But the borderlands between our realms have crumbled and as our realms meld, the treaty is void. Now listen to me; our time is short."

Hades stares up at her, his eyes burning with the same dark fire that lights the torches behind the thrones. Hermes remains at Hades's side, his cattle prod fizzling a blue electric pulse between its forked tines, his eyes wide, his face tight, almost masklike.

Nyx speaks again, soft as satin, her voice slithering into Rachel's ears like the tongue of death. "We must unite our forces before they are all lost. Tartarus rises. I have sent my children to secure him, but he is formidable in battle. He has consumed all in his path, his own children included, but for the two holding him fast. When they weaken past the point they can restrain him, the whole of the Underworld will be sucked into chaos and he will rise to the overlands, consuming them as well. The balance of the universe will be on the brink of collapse."

Hades looks to Hermes, who gives a stiff nod, and then turns back to Nyx, lowering his sword. "I agree. I accept. If my foolish brothers were capable of seeing past the measure of their fragile privilege we might stand a chance. As it is, even combining our forces we will only slow the inevitable."

_The responsibility is yours, Rachel,_ the Oracle whispers, as faint and fragile as the rustling of tissue paper. _You must relay this news to Apollo_. The rustling grows louder, turning into a loud whoosh in Rachel's ears, and then the world spins, her eyes unable to track in the dizzying whirl of light and dark.

She sits bolt upright, dragging in air as if she's never used her lungs before, green smoke swirling and her consciousness tied to her body as if by a thread. She watches herself rise from bed and shuffle on stiff legs down the hall of the apartment she shares with Piper. The whooshing sound grows louder until she stands before the open bathroom door. Inside, Piper blow dries her hair.

She spots Rachel and turns off the blow dryer, her eyes going wide. Green mist and the smell of snakeskin fill the room from Rachel's body.

"A prophecy? Now?" Piper says, and Rachel wants to explain, to tell her she has no control over the timing, but she can only watch, half-aware as the spirit of Delphi borrows her voice box.

The prophecy isn't new, but Rachel understands. It is happening now, and the scene she witnessed in the Underworld is what will bring it to pass.

_"The fall of the sun, the final verse  
inoculate the source, to fate – reverse._

_The wretched one must make a stand,  
topple the head, draw a line in the sand._

_When a lion crows and the vortex spews  
forth the daughter he never knew,_

_Then Lethe ease a fallen pride  
and truth unveil a broken bride._

_The early three will join no more  
and two in one reset the score._

XxxX

When Rachel comes to hours later, she's back in bed, her head throbbing and fuzzy. Piper sits in a chair next to her, staring at her phone and texting. She looks up when Rachel reaches for her.

"Oh! You're awake! I let Reyna know what happened and told her we'll be late, though she won't be able to delay the ceremony."

_The ceremony._ Rachel groans, hating her job as the Oracle's vessel for the first time. The ceremony at Camp Jupiter is to be Reyna's final act as praetor, passing the mantle to her successor, Hazel. Rachel's vision and the repeated prophecy lets down not only her partner, but also her friends, Hazel and Piper.

She can't stop the tears from springing to her eyes. Piper frowns at her. "Hey, it's alright. We'll still get to see everybody. And just think about it, Reyna coming back with us. We'll rule this campus!"

Rachel nods, choking up. Her throat is sore. Piper helps her to sit up, and then hands her a glass of water. Despite Piper's comforting words, their rule over Berkeley campus is not going to last long if Rachel doesn't fulfil her duty and effectively draft her friends into another godly battle. She swallows the water though it tastes bitter. What a crappy job it is, being the bearer of bad news.


	8. Chapter 8

A Moment of Calm

Reyna

**We'll head down as soon as Rachel wakes up and I can convince her to eat something.**

__Thanks, Piper. Take care and let me know if anything else happens.__

Reyna closes the text window and stares at the wallpaper on her phone, frowning.

She, Rachel, and Piper have only been using technology for the past year as monster activity has declined to the point that avoiding it seemed like overkill. It's also made it a lot easier to stay in touch. Rachel smiles back at her from behind the icons on the screen. Time seems to have flown by and Reyna has reached the end of her career as praetor.

It's kind of strange, the idea of attending University with Piper and Rachel. She'll only be a year and a half behind them, but starting out from the bottom and working her way to the top is something Reyna hasn't had to do for years. More worrisome still is Piper's news that Rachel's oracle powers have started up again, repeating the prophecy from a couple of years ago on top of Hazel's confession earlier in the day.

Hazel was having doubts she'd be able to rise to the expectations of the praetorship. Apparently her father had stripped her of her Underworld powers. Why Pluto would find such an action necessary is a question that makes Reyna's skin crawl. Something is wrong in the godly realm; she can feel it in the air, but the fact remains that it's time to step down. Unless the gods themselves turn up and demand action from the 12th Legion Fulminata, Reyna is expected to walk away and allow the new leadership to find its feet.

Her screen has gone black and she swipes her thumb across it again, recalling Rachel's face. She can't help wondering how things will work out between them after spending the past year apart. Rachel and Piper had both insisted on taking year round courses in order to finish their degrees quickly. Arts and humanities seem to be right up their alleys and Reyna doesn't doubt they will make huge strides toward making the future a better place for mortals and demigods alike. But still…

Does _she_ have a place at such a school? She's a soldier, a warrior. She's trained to make change through conquering her foes, not through higher learning. And her relationship with Rachel … Rachel has told her that lesbianism isn't a huge deal at Berkeley, that there's a large LGBT community there, but Reyna wonders how honest Rachel is being with herself. Neither of them identified as bisexual prior to hooking up with each other. Reyna hadn't seen that coming at all… She knows Rachel, as an artist, had always had an appreciation for women's bodies, but she'd only ever had crushes on guys prior to Reyna.

She can't deny her relationship with Rachel has been amazing and it's probably just because it's been so long since they've seen each other that these doubts are creeping in. Reyna tells herself that she's just not going to worry about it, and then another thought strikes. If Rachel hadn't taken the Oracle and sworn off men, would they have ended up together. Is Reyna only Rachel's 'next best thing'?

"Reyna?"

Reyna fumbles the phone and looks up, startled. It's only Frank. She slips her phone into her pocket. "Zhang, you startled me."

"Sorry 'bout that. Uhh – are you doing alright? Anything I can help with?"

She gathers herself, there's no sense in appearing flustered in front of Frank. He's an excellent colleague, but also very sensitive to signs of weakness and Reyna does not want to come across as weak, especially not today.

"Thank you, I'm fine. Is Hazel ready?"

Frank gives her a quizzical look that she pointedly does not acknowledge. "She's talking to Nico. An Iris message. Turns out he's affected by the power thing too. He said it would be okay if you and I joined their conversation. Hazel just sent me to ask if you would."

A rush of affection runs through Reyna's nerves, calming them. It's been too long since she talked to Nico. He's come so far from the old days and she can't help but feel a sort of sisterly pride when thinking about him. She smiles. "Of course."

XxxX

In the Principia, Hazel sits at the foot of the long table, focusing a beam of sunlight from one of the narrow windows through a prism. Nico's face appears inside the rainbow image, distorting slightly as Hazel's hand trembles. He looks so much older than when he'd shadow-traveled the Athena Parthenos across the Atlantic. Reyna thinks that one benefit of Nico losing his Underworld powers would be that he'd have a harder time scaring her half to death by abusing shadow-travel and almost fading into nonexistence.

"Hey Reyna," he says when she approaches the table. He sounds happy to see her, upbeat almost. "You look good. Like a real grown up."

Reyna smirks at him and folds her arms over her waist. "You too. Is that stubble on your chin?" She clicks her tongue. "That wouldn't fly if you were one of my legionnaires."

He grins. "You heard about Hazel's problem?"

"Yeah. She told me this morning. You too, huh?"

Hazel clears her throat as if to get them through the niceties. "Nico, now that Reyna and Frank are here, are you gonna tell me what's got you all worked up?"

Nico scowls. "I'm not all worked up." Reyna hides her smile behind her hand as he huffs, then sighs, resigned. "Yeah. Alright." The mood in the room seems to shift along with his tone of voice. It feels serious, almost sinister. "Something bad is happening in the Underworld. I don't want to go into too much detail, but Hades and Hermes are fugitives from Olympus. If they leave the Underworld, they're to be sent to Tartarus. Asclepius has already been thrown into the pit …" He recounts the dreamscape where Hecate, in Hades's stead, made him and Hazel choose everlasting sleep, the Lotus Hotel, or losing their Underworld powers. "But that's just the start. There's also Apollo. He's freaking out. I can't say more than that by Iris message, but keep your heads up. Watch for signs of unusual activity."

Reyna's heart races, a cold sweat trickling down the back of her neck. "I got a text from Piper. Only fifteen minutes ago. She and Rachel won't make the ceremony because Rachel had some sort of vision. Piper said Rachel repeated the prophecy from two years ago while in a trance, then passed out cold. I can't help thinking it's related.

Hazel's eyebrows rise up her forehead. "Oh, Reyna! Do you want to put off the ceremony for a couple of days? It's really alright with–"

"No," Reyna says immediately. "The Senate will convene in twenty minutes and I am ready to get things moving. When I no longer have praetor duties, I'll be free to spend all the time I need making sure Rachel is okay."

Hazel turns back to Nico after giving Reyna a small nod. "Where's Will? What does he have to say about it all?"

Nico flinches at the question and Reyna can feel her blood pressure going up. Is there no end to the bad news? This is not what she wanted from a catch up call. "Yeah, uh … there's more. Will got called away about an hour ago. Lou Ellen – apparently she's in some kind of coma or trance. Cecil just stopped by to let me know Will wants me to rest and then bring coffee to the infirmary in the morning."

"Lou Ellen." Hazel sounds stunned. "Nico, what if Hecate is doing the same thing to her? Making her choose? What if Lou Ellen chose Everlasting sleep?"

Nico shifts, his face disappearing from the message momentarily as his skull T-shirt takes up the rainbow window. "I thought of that, but we won't know for a while. Will's still running tests." He takes a deep breath and exhales, then smiles. "Look, for now I want you to put all this weirdness in the back of your mind. Go and take your place as praetor and wear the mantle proudly. I told you a long time ago that Camp Jupiter was where you belonged."

Hazel's cheeks turn pink and Frank settles his hand on her back. "He's right, Hazel."

Reyna can't keep her own smile from growing. There is some good they can focus on and it seems they're all in agreement that that is what is needed now.

"Thanks," Hazel says. "Nico, I want you to update me when you hear more about Lou Ellen. Understand?"

"Sure thing, sis," Nico says. He waves his hand through the message and the rainbow dissipates.

Frank clasps Hazel's hand against her shoulder and Reyna can't help watching the look they exchange. Hazel taking comfort from him as her anxiety seems to calm. Hazel really is the best officer in the Legion to take Reyna's place, though there's still a twinge of melancholy as she pictures Frank and Hazel working as praetors together. It had once been her dream to share the office with a life partner, but she reminds herself that not all dreams come to pass and letting go of the ones that aren't realistic is better than suffering, longing for what will never come to pass.

"It's time," she says. She looks away and fastens her cape around her neck. It isn't the same one that Athena had blessed; she'll never part with that one, but the symbol of authority it stands for will work as a symbolic gesture of passing her title to Hazel.

Hazel nods as Reyna looks back up. A flicker of sympathy seems to shine in her eyes. Reyna doesn't want sympathy right now. "Let's go," she says and leads the way out of the principia.


	9. Chapter 9

*This Chapter contains smut*

Loved By the Sun

Zephyros

"Zephyr … Hold up!" a familiar voice calls and Zephyros turns mid-flight, his stomach sinking.

But the winged god flying toward him is _not_ Eros. Zephryos blinks, hovering. Everything about him looks like Zephyros's former master. Everything, from his handsome face, his shoulder-length black hair, his clothes: a white shirt open halfway down the front and tight black jeans, but his eyes are purple instead of blood red and his wings are more like that of a butterfly than the standard feathers of most winged deities.

"Who are you?" he asks, unable to keep the awe the god's presence raises in him out of his voice. "You look …"

The god laughs – even his laughter sounds like Eros – and sets Zephyros on the edge of panic. _Was his former master transformed? Is this a hidden son of Eros revealing himself and coming to drag Zephyros back into servitude?_

Apparently his anxiety shows on his face because the god's voice grows gentler and he hovers before Zephyros, his hands open and face up as if showing his intentions are not threatening. "I understand your hesitance. You do not know me by sight, as I have been invisible to you until recently, but I know you very well. I am Anteros, the brother of Eros. I am the god of requited love."

Zephyros's breath catches in his throat. Of course he has heard of this god. Zephyros is, after all, older than Zeus himself, but to be able to see the god of requited love means that …

"Apollo …" he says, his body feeling as if it can no longer contain his emotions.

"Shall we land?" Anteros asks. "I am not comfortable dissipating into wind and you seem on the verge of doing it."

Zephyros shakes himself. "Y–yeah, I mean, yes," he stammers. He gestures to a point far below them, a dead end road in a sleepy Nevada town.

When they land, Zephyros hardly feels the ground under his feet. His mind is on Apollo on the other side of the country. He itches to return to him.

Anteros lands beside him and they walk side by side on the broken pavement until they reach a wooden fence with a vacant lot behind it. Anteros rests his arms on the top board of the fence, and puts a foot up on the lowest board. "Unfortunately I'm not here for a social call, though I wouldn't mind finally getting to know you face to face."

Zephyros's face grows warm. He can't help it. Even though his heart belongs to Apollo, receiving a compliment from a hot god does things to him. It's been ages since he was allowed to even hope for some physical attention. He mirrors Anteros's stance and forces himself to pay attention. "Thanks. Uh – Is it something to do with Eros or …" He leaves off with a whatever else gesture.

Anteros smiles at him and shakes his head. "Nothing like that. Apollo made sure your servitude to Eros was completely severed. You're free from my brother's bonds. But none of us are ever fully free, are we? My message comes from Olympus, and so it is part blessing, part curse."

Zephyros sucks in a breath, his stomach squirming uncomfortably. Mortal bodies are not comfortable when it comes to dealing with heavy news. He nods for Anteros to continue.

"Zeus, you may have heard, has given Hermes the boot. And then he realized that without a god fulfilling his messenger service, the work is piling up. He's issued a decree that all winged gods must take a turn delivering Olympian correspondence, until he finds a long-term replacement." There's bitterness in Anteros's voice, a heavy disappointment. "I've been doing it for the past few months, but it's harder for me to fulfil the duties than for other wind gods as only a percentage of the recipients are able to see me. I'm here to let you know that your turn of duty will begin the day after tomorrow, though I recommend leaving for Olympus tomorrow, so you have a chance to settle in before he sets you to work."

Zephyros wrinkles his forehead. What horrible timing. To find that the god he's loved and hated – only to realize his hatred was a jealous manifestation of the same love – for eons actually loves him back, and now he's being called away to serve his lover's bad tempered father. It's not fair.

"I understand," he says after reflecting a moment. "I need to return to Apollo. If I only have tonight with him until Zeus is finished with me, I'd like to savor the time I do have."

Anteros smiles at him, his eyes softer, sadder. "Indeed. I wish you the best with that. May your love only grow stronger." He disappears, shimmering, and then fading leaving a momentary echo of fluttering wings.

As Zephyros turns back into a gentle wind, before dashing back across the states in his equine form, he reflects on Apollo's daughter who he had just dropped off. He trusts Apollo has her best interests in mind, but with the odd time alteration and the strange taste in the air, he wonders if there's any point in trying to prolong the inevitable. The sensation in Zephyros's core is similar to when Typhon rose again. A storm is brewing, deep and powerful, somewhere under the surface of the Earth and it's only a matter of time before the gods and mortals alike will have to acknowledge it. He doubts any of the gods even know if it can be stopped

XxxX

By the time he reaches Camp Half-Blood, night has fallen. He thinks it must be eight or nine. He hates time zones and flying across the country has lost him three hours of what little time he has left to spend with Apollo.

Zephyros reaches out in the form of a gentle breeze, searching for Apollo's presence in the camp. He finds him in Rachel's oracle cave. Zephyros flutters the curtain covering the cave entrance and stops short, not to interrupt the conversation in progress.

Apollo has decked out the cave to resemble his own place on Delos. He's seated on a long leather couch, his back bent, supporting his head with his hand, his elbow on his knee. He holds the staff he'd taken from Will a couple of years ago in his other hand. Pythia twists her body around the staff so her head is at midpoint, weaving back and forth as she listens.

Apollo sniffles and continues talking to her. "The worst part is how broken I feel. Why does he _always_ single me out? First, cutting off my inner voice, splitting me in two, then his _wife_, taking advantage while I'm still hurting. Her offer sounded reasonable at the time, to turn the pantheon into a democracy … but no. My punishment for her misguidance was to be stripped of immortality and made a slave to a mortal … twice." He chokes up and covers his face with his palm, wiping his tears while Pythia nuzzles his cheek with her wedge-shaped head.

"It is true that life has not been easy for you, or fair, but you are still very worthy and kind, even to me, your former enemy."

Apollo turns his face again, resting his cheek once more on his fist. He blinks tears from his eyelashes. Zephyros wants nothing more than to envelop him in a warm breeze, blow his tears dry, and lift his spirits.

"But you are more than I ever expected. You were born from the dregs of my father's rage and bitterness. I didn't think you would have, forgive me … the ability to experience compassion or to rise above your beginnings."

Pythia turns her head to the side, looking at Apollo with apparent consideration. "I wouldn't have been able to rise above my creation had it not been for the Oracle's teachings or, for that matter, that young son of yours taking a chance on me. Had it not been for him, I would have unwittingly smothered the Oracle and doomed myself in the process."

Apollo sniffles again, lifting his head, and then wiping his nose on his arm. He grimaces at it, his lips trembling. He looks at Pythia again.

"But this is why I am distraught. He's gone too far this time." He gulps his breaths between sobbing his words. "I cannot fight him. Asclepius … such a gentle soul. Tartarus is just … and Will … They're alike, you know? I took you from Will to make the similarities less blatant … If he hears of them …" Once more, Apollo dissolves into tears and Zephyros cannot remain silent any longer. His need to comfort overwhelms him. He takes his mortal form and steps forward.

"I'm back," he says, soft as a caress.

Apollo lifts his head, straightening his posture as Zephyros approaches while Pythia flicks her tongue as if tasting the air for ill intentions.

Zephyros touches Apollo's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "I caught the tail end of your conversation. Do you want to tell me about it?"

Apollo sniffles again, closing his eyes. He rubs his cheek against Zephyros's forearm.

"I shall retreat now," Pythia hisses and when Apollo nods his thanks to her, the staff disappears into the Mist.

Zephyros vanishes his wings and sits beside Apollo on the couch. He's barely had time to get comfortable before Apollo climbs into his lap, his knees squeezing Zephryos's hips. Zephyros smiles up at him, heart bursting all over again with the knowledge that Apollo _loves_ him. His smile falters when he thinks of having to leave in the morning. Maybe he can stretch it to mid-afternoon.

"What is it?" Apollo asks. His face is more serious than Zephyros is used to seeing, older. Apollo looks like he's working overtime to try not to let how broken he feels show through his appearance.

Zephyros stares into Apollo's eyes, so blue they could be pieces of the sky. Focusing on the good things would probably do more to lift Apollo's mood than anything else. He holds Apollo's waist between his hands, his flirty smirk playing on his lips. "I met somebody over Nevada on my way back, somebody you might be interested in."

Apollo narrows his eyes as if scrutinizing Zephyros for mischief. He seems to read nothing suspicious in his face and instead slumps forward, resting his head on Zephyros's shoulder, his breath tickling Zephyros's neck. "I'm so tired, baby. Can you just hold me for a little while?"

Zephyros nods and hugs Apollo, his hands smoothing over Apollo's back, rubbing the knots from his muscles.

They sit in silence for a while, punctuated by Apollo's occasional gasps when Zephyros works on a particularly tight spot.

"Liz is okay?" Apollo asks at last. His voice sounds softer, less troubled than before.

Zephyros hums through his nose, then breathes deeply, savoring Apollo's scent, like sunshine on clean damp sand, a scent he'd like to wrap himself up in forever. He answers when Apollo pinches his side.

"Ow. She should be fine, but I don't think she'd be in any more danger with her mother. With the other girls at Camp Jupiter, Daphne will miss her."

Apollo squeezes his eyes shut and a hot tear lands on Zephyros's neck. "It's better this way. Please trust me."

Zephyros doesn't like the sinking feeling that statement gives him. He doesn't press the issue though, not when he's trying to stay positive. Apollo, when pressed, tends to curl up into himself like a wounded animal, and it's more work to coax him back than to not send him there in the first place. He's watched Apollo for so long, he knows this like he knows himself.

"I do," he says instead. "I trust you above all others."

"I'm broken," Apollo sobs quietly, and Zephyros just continues rubbing the stress from Apollo's back. "I tried … two years, even more than that …"

Zephyros stops his massage; he moves his hands to Apollo's shoulders and gently pushes until Apollo leans back and meets his eyes. "What are you talking about right now? You think you've disappointed me somehow?"

It's such a ridiculous notion, Zephyros has trouble believing Apollo would actually believe such a thing.

"None of them took. Not a single demigod baby. We tried, what, a dozen women? It's me, I know it. Something happened when I was metamorphosed to Olympus and now …"

"Apollo, listen to me." Zephyros tries to keep his voice gentle and soothing, but it's hard not to laugh at how little importance not bringing more demigods into the world is in the grand scheme of things. Surely Apollo realizes there's something huge unfolding. It's impossible that the god of prophecy, of inspiration wouldn't know that much. "It's okay with me. I don't blame you. I think waiting until later to try again will be fine."

Apollo shakes his head, his forehead creasing between his eyes and Zephyros thinks there's something more to it in Apollo's mind. That he's assigned getting a mortal pregnant with Zephyros present as meaning something more. But what?

"I just," Apollo starts, then closes his eyes like he's in pain. Zephyros waits, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Apollo opens his eyes again and runs the back of his hand gently down the side of Zephyros's face. "If you're there too, then it's our child, together. I just …"

Zephyros widens his eyes, understanding hitting him like a smack to the face. "You want to have a baby with me, so I'll understand … Apollo, I already love you and I know you feel the same."

Apollo's face falls, then perks up again as his old defiance sputters to life. "Well, how would you … You ass. Don't make me feel stupid. I mean … Explain yourself!"

Zephyros does laugh this time, a short burst of chuckles. Seeing Apollo offended by Zephyros finally understanding him is just too cute to keep hidden. "I ran into Anteros on the flight back," Apollo's eyes grow huge, lighting up as if he couldn't hide his excitement if he wanted to. Zephyros gets it. He pretty much did the same thing earlier. "But it wasn't all great. I want you to know though, before we talk about the message he brought me, that I love you and I _choose_ you over all others." Apollo looks like he wants to interrupt, but Zephyros keeps going. He needs to make a solid impression in Apollo's mind before delivering the news of his appointment. "Do you remember the day Dionysus was born?"

Apollo pauses, his unspoken objection halted in its tracks. His lips turn up in a smirk, his cheeks going pink. "Yes. Of course. I delivered him and sewed father's thigh back up."

Warmth spreads through Zephyros's face and down his chest, the heat of their closeness, the proximity of their groins stirring his arousal. "Yeah, then afterwards? In the garden. You came out for some fresh air …"

Apollo trails his hand down Zephyros's chest, lighting on the growing bulge in his jeans. "Yeah, you always did blow the sweetest air."

Zephyros squeezes Apollo's ass through his jeans. "You looked like you had had a rough day and I dropped to my knees and lifted your chiton, looking up at you while you stared at me with so much awe, I felt compelled to shower you with worship."

"You are the reason people call that form of worship a blow job, you cheeky devil."

Zephyros licks his lips as Apollo massages him to full hardness. He stares at Apollo's lips, then into his eyes, still finding it beyond understanding to see the doubt in those blue depths. "I've loved you since before that day, Apollo. Even when I hated you, I loved you." He deliberately does not mention Eros. It would sour the mood.

Apollo rises on his thighs, his groin level with Zephyros's mouth and Zephyros leans forward the inch between them and blows hotly against his fly, mouthing his erection through his jeans. He shivers with anticipation when Apollo twitches under his mouth and combs fingers through his curls. Then Apollo sinks back down, pressing closer, so their groins bump each other. "Tell me the bad news now. I need to hear it now or it'll shatter me if we wait until I'm content."

Zephyros's heart thuds in his chest. Tempestuous mortal bodies. It's so hard to dial them back down after winding them up. He swallows as Apollo rocks his hips, sending delicious jolts of desire chasing up and down Zephyros's spine. "Mount Olympus," he gasps. "I've been called to serve a term as the Olympian messenger god." Apollo doesn't cease his rocking, breathing harder, more ragged, and Zephyros wants so much to tear him out of his clothes, to take him or be taken by him right there on the couch, or the floor, or against the wall.

"How long?" Apollo says, drawing Zephyros's focus back to the conversation.

"I'm not sure. All winged gods must serve in turn until a permanent replacement is made." He groans, his need growing desperate. "They already know I'm pretty flighty, I doubt they'll choose me long-term."

Apollo nods again, his lips prettily parted and gods if Zephyros will last under the torture of sweet slow friction. "I want to shake things up," Apollo says. Zephyros, holds onto his hips, stilling him, waiting until they're eye to eye.

"In the bedroom or on Olympus?" His heart thrums against his ribs. He'd be cool with either answer, but if Apollo actually means he's ready to stand up to his father – that would be huge and possibly, disastrous, or even game-changing.

"Both," Apollo says low in his throat, almost growling. "Marry me."

Zephyros thinks he might dissipate into wind. The form he's in is simply not big enough to contain the emotional explosion inside him. But Apollo holds him fast, forcing him, by the strength of his own will, to stay put.

He takes deep breaths, catching his mouth up with his thoughts. "You're serious? Hera, she …"

"I don't give a flying fig what my _stepmother_ thinks about what I do. I swore I would never marry, but I am allowed to change my mind. I am a god who _can_ change."

Zephyros huffs a short laugh before the severity of such a decision hits him again. Historically, Zeus has tested alterations to humanity using Apollo; if Apollo makes the leap to cast off his stepmother's ban on anything other than her perfect ideal for which she has chosen to rule, the mortals may cast off their reliance on the gods as well, declare themselves gods and overturn the Olympian power structure.

Still, he's already said it. He chooses Apollo over all else. "I will. I do."

Apollo's smile splits his face, his teeth showing as white as the reflective moon. "I do, too. Let's consummate it quickly before anybody can stop us."

Zephyros crushes his lips to Apollo's, kissing for all he's worth and Apollo answers him. They mold together, all tangled arms, legs, hair, and chasing tongues. Apollo wrestles with their clothing before deciding it's not worth the trouble and vanishing both sets with a thought. He straddles Zephyros's waist, pushing him onto his back on the couch, and gods, Zephyros is so relieved to feel the hot press of skin against skin skin, he loses himself. Falling into position as natural as rustling tree leaves, he ruts his cock up along Apollo's crease, spreading his ass with his hands on firm cheeks, drunk on the sweet sounds Apollo can't help making.

Apollo leans closer, pushing their chests together and covering Zephyros's face and neck with messy, breathy kisses. He grunts into Zephyros's ear, then turns his voice to a whisper. "You'll be gone for a while. I want to feel you for days. Fuck me with your equine cock?"

Zephyros thinks his brain might melt and leak out of his ears at how hot he finds the request. As gods, really, there's no way Apollo could be hurt taking a cock so big, but that he wants it just sends Zephyros's blood racing. "Yeah … okay."

"I still want _you_ in mortal form," Apollo clarifies, and there's a note of nervousness in his voice that is so human, Zephyros has to think it over twice. Zeus hasn't stripped his immortality again, if he had Apollo wouldn't be able to vanish their clothes, but the idea of Apollo becoming more human is both endearing and frustrating. Every immortal being who Zephyros has 'overheard' discussing the Olympian power structure has held the belief in their minds that Apollo would be better suited to lead it than his father, even if they never dared speak it aloud.

Zephyros pushes his thoughts to the back of his mind. He has a marriage to consummate, and Hades if he's going to back out. Never. He nods his understanding, earning a huge grin from Apollo. "How do you want it? I'll give you anything you ask. All of me."

Apollo turns over so his back is against Zephyros's chest. He leans to the side and turns his face so they can see each other, one hand busy working himself loose. "Like this," he says and inclines his head, kissing Zephyros with the barest brush of his lips.

Zephyros grows dizzy as he alters himself, his body not used to using the amount of blood it takes to engorge such an enormous dick. And then, pure bliss as Apollo works himself onto it. He holds himself on muscular arms, lifting up and sliding back, taking it deeper little by little, his eyes closed in concentration, the focus of relaxing his body apparent on his face, his lips parted.

Zephyros grips Apollo's hips, the squeeze of fitting into too tight a space thrilling him. His balls throb as if prompting him to thrust until he can empty them. He holds himself in check, inhaling their arousal, their shared lust, their sacred bond until, finally, Apollo is fully seated. He leans the back of his head on Zephyros's shoulder, lolling to the side. "Do it," he whispers. Zephyros can barely breathe, Apollo's so tight, but when he looks down and sees Apollo stroking himself, beads of precome sliding from his slit, Zephyros's desire roars back to full flame.

He holds Apollo steady, balancing him as Apollo supports the majority of his weight with his back against Zephyros's chest. Zephyros rolls his hips, Apollo softly moaning, and then pulls back, surprised he's able to. Apparently Apollo has opted to use his divine capabilities to self-lubricate. Smart guy.

Slow, and then faster, they move as one, chasing ecstasy. Zephyros, growing more bold, thrusting harder, pulling back further and fucking deeper, and Apollo, a mess of babbling moans, his cock leaking on its own. He turns his head, twisting his torso impossibly and drinks Zephyros's kisses, blissed out and bucking back when Zephyros slows the pace.

Pleasure builds in Zephyros's gut, so much so, he has to arch his neck to breathe and not steal Apollo's air from his lungs. Zephyros moves his arms, hugging across Apollo's chest, turning his face back to press kisses to Apollo's temple and the side of his face. He jerks his hips, supporting himself with his heels digging grooves into the leather, and then lets go, coming harder than he ever has in both mortal and equine form combined. Apollo follows him over the edge, breathless, gasping, clutching Zephyros's arms, fingernails leaving grooves in the skin. Apollo spurts white semen in jets up his chest, one hitting Zephyros in the face, but he hardly notices. He's too wrapped in the electric bursts of pleasure racing through his nerves. His vision whites out momentarily and he almost feels like he's turning back into the wind until Apollo slaps his arm.

He turns his face and meets Apollo's eyes so far gone in love, he doesn't even consider how _life-changing_ this coupling was for them. He slips from Apollo's body, unable to keep his mixed form any longer, reverting to strictly mortal. Apollo turns again in his arms, and pulls Zephyros and himself into a seated posture. He wraps his legs around Zephyros's hips, his arms around Zephyros's back.

Zephyros hugs him, feeling almost more intimate in this embrace than he had joined in sex. "I love you," he murmurs beside Apollo's ear, pressing cheek to cheek. "You and me, partners for life."

"Husbands," Apollo says, his voice a breathy sigh. "I love you too. Stupid wind god, you make me forget to be afraid."

Zephyros grins, holding on tightly and desperate to never let go.

"I suppose you think you're quite clever," a sharp voice rings out, resonating through the very stone walls with the power of a goddess.


	10. Chapter 10

I'll Take You For Who You Are

Zephyros

_Aphrodite._

Zephyros closes his eyes and waits for the shitstorm to hit.

"Really?" Apollo says, lifting his head from Zephyros's shoulder and addressing the intruder. "I'd say it takes a lot of nerve for the Goddess of Love to interrupt a wedding night."

"I waited until you were finished," she says, sniffing as if such an accusation offended her.

Zephyros's face burns. He's thankful he's facing away from his former master's mother. After living so long under Eros's 'protection' - forbidden from partaking in the very element Eros and Aphrodite lay claim to - he has to fight the instinct telling him to pull away from Apollo and grovel at Aphrodite's feet.

His wings, currently in tattoo form, twitch under Apollo's fingers as he runs a soothing hand over Zephyros's skin. He's grateful for the touch. It keeps him grounded, firm in his decision to not quell under the goddess's spell.

"I think, Aphrodite, that you and I have a very different opinion as to what constitutes finished," Apollo says. "Spit it out then. Why are you back?"

She huffs. "I am not here for you at all, Apollo. I _know_ a lost cause when I see it. I'm actually here for Zephyr."

Zephyros's wings spring from his back, the instinct to answer her calling too strong to resist. Apollo holds fast to Zephyros's arms, preventing him from getting up to greet her. Instead, Zephyros twists, and meets her eyes. They sparkle with mirth. "What is it?" he asks. He can't keep the worry building inside him from coming across. That Aphrodite herself would come to see him …

She waves her hand as if shooing a bothersome fly. "It seems Zeus needs you on Olympus. He sent my son to deliver the message, and then recalled that you wouldn't be able to see the messenger. As I am the mother of Anteros, he has sent …"

"I got it," Zephyros says bluntly. "He told me earlier today. I thought I wouldn't start until the day after tomorrow."

Aphrodite smirks, her eyebrows rising sharply. "Count yourself lucky Zeus is unaware of your dalliance with Apollo."

Apollo interrupts. "Marriage. Do not imagine that you will change my mind by belittling me."

Zephyros furrows his eyebrows. He's not sure what they're talking about, but there seems to be some bad blood between them.

Aphrodite's expression cools in an instant, her face growing tight, eyes flashing. "I would remind you that you two are _not_ off the hook with me after stealing my possessions and …"

"Out." Apollo says. He sounds restrained, barely. "You came to deliver a message; you have done so. Zephyros will fly to Olympus tonight. But you will not bring up such trivial matters and use them to blackmail me."

With a flash of red and pink flames, Aphrodite vanishes.

Zephyros turns back to face Apollo. His hands are hot on Zephyros's arms. "What is going on with you two?"

Apollo shakes his head, then slumps forward, his forehead resting on Zephyros's shoulder. "She wants me to rise up and … It's not only her; Artemis has been on my case for years, Hermes, too, before he got caught helping Asclepius. I can't do it. _He's_ torn me down so much already. I'm … I'm not even at half my old strength. I just can't."

Hot tears hit Zephyros's shoulder and drip down his chest. He holds onto Apollo's back, rubbing it again, wanting to take the pressure away, the stress. "I don't think that's true," he says, reflecting for a long moment first. "It isn't that I don't believe you. I believe very much that you are feeling overstretched. But, Apollo, even at half your former strength, I have full faith you could rise above your father. I know there are others who would have your back."

The tears stop, though Zephyros doubts his faith would be enough to drive Apollo into action. Honestly, he's lived in servitude for so long, he can't even imagine what life would be like without Zeus in control. He also doesn't particularly want Apollo taking on that role. It's one thing to fall in love with the god of the sun, of music, of healing and inspiration, quite another thing to find himself suddenly in the position of spouse to the king of the gods.

Apollo pulls his head back to look at Zephyros. His eyes are flat and dull, his face, a mask. "Do you honestly want me to challenge _him_?"

"Absolutely not," Zephyros says. His heart somersaults as Apollo's face comes to life at his response.

Apollo quirks an eyebrow, his lips twitching on one side. He unwinds his legs from around Zephyros's waist and scoots back on his knees. The couch transforms into a replica of Apollo's bed on Delos. "Have time for one more act of worship?"

Zephyros flutters his wings and gets on his hands and knees. He bows until his head is level with Apollo's lap and looks up at him. Apollo's cock stands hard and ready, his eyes dancing in his face. "Always, for you."

XxxX

Afterwards, Zephyros rests his eyes, Apollo's breath puffing across his chest, slow and even with sleep.

He runs his hand along Apollo's side to his hipbone, and then back up, cupping his bicep. It's so tempting to not move, to deny the time has come that he needs to leave.

_Married._

He shakes his head as he forces himself to open his eyes, to scoot out from where Apollo is draped on his chest. He pushes a pillow into the space where he was, smiling down as Apollo hugs it in his sleep. That they are married still blows his mind. It breaks all the standards set by Zeus and Hera, and yet, why shouldn't they marry?

That Apollo is so serious about him as to want to father a child to be 'theirs' makes his knees go weak. If Eros hadn't happened to be there that fateful day eons ago, if Apollo hadn't insulted him, if Eros hadn't known about the enormity of Zephyros's feelings for Apollo, would they have had happier lives?

_Don't think about it. There's no sense in being bitter about the past when it's beyond changing. Get on with the present, make it the better past you can look back on._

He dresses in the dark, drawing his cast off clothes from the mist and putting them on. Who cares how it looks to show up at Olympus in a tank top and shorts. They hadn't exactly given him much notice, so why should he put forth any extra effort?

Finally, unable to put it off any longer, he transforms into a warm breeze, takes one last look at the sleeping god in the bed and rushes out of the cave entrance, the purple curtain waving behind him as if to say good bye.


	11. Chapter 11

*This chapter contains smut* 

Under Pressure We're Cracking

Nico

The sound of a creaking door. Footsteps.

Nico, still half asleep, slowly blinks and turns his head, watching in the low light of the green torches. It has to be really early morning: the sky still dark and the rest of the camp, silent. Will closes the door and slumps against it, his shoulders stooped, his back bent as if it's too hard to hold his head upright. He heaves a sigh and pushes himself off the door.

Nico smiles to himself, half hidden by his pillow. Will pulls his shirt off, then swings his arms and twists his torso, working the stress out of his back.

_Muscles._ Nico thinks he could spend hours watching Will walk around shirtless. The difference from two years ago – Will had been strong then, but slender, lankier, and now – the sight makes Nico's breath catch in his throat. Will stops swinging his arms, his back to Nico, groaning softly, and Nico bites his lip to keep from making a sound. He watches Will move his arms, fascinated by the shadows his shoulderblades make in the low light.

_Are you feeling up your own chest? Turn around so I can see!_

The sound of Will's zipper is music to Nico's ears. He watches Will drop his jeans and briefs, leaving them on the floor, and then hums contentedly as he takes in Will's naked body, not even thinking about keeping quiet. Will turns and Nico meets his gaze. The expression on Will's face dials back Nico's arousal like pushing the button on a measuring tape. Will looks shattered. His eyes are wide and round, glassy with tears that won't fall. Nico tosses back the blankets and pats the bed, inviting Will in.

In an instant, Will climbs on top of Nico, burrowing his face into the crook of Nico's neck, straddling his legs and pushing Nico deeper into his pillow. Nico runs his hands over the muscled ridges and dips in Will's back, his skin hot against Nico's cool palm.

Will holds Nico's sides between his arms, pressing in with his elbows as if he's afraid to let go, and then rolls his hips, his breath hot against the skin of Nico's neck. Will's dick is rock hard, his hips moving as if on their own steam, bumping and grinding Nico's groin. He presses his balls against Nico's clothed erection, and then slides his own hard dick back and forth, up and down the underside of Nico's, teasing until Nico's boxers are unbearably tight.

Still, Nico tells himself he'll wait. He needs to find out what's going on before losing himself in sex. He trails his hands down Will's spine, and then stops him, gripping his hipbones and holding them in place so he can't grind. "What's the matter?" Nico asks. He sounds breathy and more than aroused, but there's nothing for it. He waits for Will to talk to him, to stop trying to find friction, to stop struggling against Nico's grip.

Finally, Will lifts his head, their faces an inch apart. He closes his eyes, wrinkling the corners though if with pain or grief or even frustration, Nico can't tell.

"Please," Will says, and opens his eyes again. "I need you, Nico. Please. I need to feel you inside me. I – I can't talk about it yet."

Nico takes in Will's wrecked face, succumbing as Will's hips wear down his handholds, and Nico allows the grinding to resume. He nods, answering Will's grateful kisses without restraint. He'll hear what's troubling Will when Will is good and ready to talk. Right now, Nico will offer whatever comfort Will wants to take from his body.

Will breaks the kiss, trailing messily across Nico's jaw line, and then tugging Nico's earlobe lightly with his teeth. Nico gasps, breathing harder, his heart racing. That's a new hotspot to him, but apparently Will knows it well. He pushes his frustration with losing two years of life experience down in favor of savoring 'right now'.

Will releases Nico's earlobe, then crawls backwards down Nico's body, tugging his boxers down to his calves. Then Will turns around, straddling Nico's thighs backwards, the crack of his ass right at the base of Nico's erection. Nico couldn't look away if he wanted to as Will bends over and pushes the boxers off Nico's feet.

Nico's sole focus is Will's perfect ass on display before him, ready for the taking. Nico shudders again as Will seeks out more hotspots on Nico's ankles and calves, pressing them with kisses and tracing them with his tongue. Nico runs his hands over his own chest, pinching his nipples, rubbing them into hard nubs.

And then Will arches his back, supported on his hands and knees. He rolls his hips so his erection brushes Nico's, pointed in opposite directions. And Nico has to hold himself back from the urge to take over, to stop the teasing, to push Will face down into the mattress and take what he wants. Fortunately, Will doesn't tease much longer. He backs up again, straddling Nico's stomach, and pulling Nico's cock up against his own, wrapping his hands around them together.

The friction is so good, but more than that, the sight of Will's butt flexing as he works their cocks in his fist has Nico enthralled. A moment later, Will grabs something from the bunched up blanket, and Nico understands it's lube when he watches Will reach around and slick his own hole with his fingers.

Gods, Nico understands. Fucking himself backwards on Will's dick is pretty much the fastest way to an orgasm for him. He wonders how much Will likes it, how many times they've done it this way, how many missing memories he has. He halts his thoughts again, swallowing his resentment. He doesn't know who or even what is at fault for the time skip, doesn't know why he seems to be the only demigod to have noticed it, the only one to be missing pieces.

"Ohhhhh," he grunts, slipping into Will's tight heat, effectively shutting down all lines of thought.

Will's channel ripples around him, relaxing and gripping in turn until Nico's in all the way and Will pauses, taking loud, shuddering breaths. Then he starts to move, his ass going from soft and round, to hard and angular with every flex. Nico stares, drinking in the sight, watching his dick disappearing inside Will's body, lost in the slick heat, somehow different than before, somehow _more_. He finds himself intoxicated, entirely at the mercy of Will's whims and fine with it. Will lifts and lowers himself with his thighs, his right arm making jerking motions and the sweetest whimpers and moans escaping his lips.

Nico holds onto Will's hipbones, not trying to take control, just feeling how Will's body responds to Nico's presence inside it. Will jerks faster, rolling his hips, then shifting so he's actually supporting himself on his feet in a crouch, fucking himself on Nico, and it's all Nico can do to not interrupt. Will's cries grow more desperate, taking his breaths in gasps.

The firm muscles in Will's ass flex, his butt bouncing … Nico can't stop himself. He smacks Will's ass cheek, not hard, but the way Will tightens around him in response, the way he rolls his hips even more, tells Nico Will likes it. He does it again, and Will jerks himself into a frenzy, a litany of "oh, oh, oh," spilling from his mouth.

Will moves, lying back on top of Nico's chest. He turns his face, his lips parted, plump, and needy for kisses. Nico closes the distance separating them, kissing and licking until Will arches his neck, crying out, pressing his head back onto Nico's shoulder.

It's all Nico can do to hold onto Will's hips, balancing him while he fucks down on Nico's dick. Will stokes himself faster, his moans higher-pitched, his body going mad with sexual frenzy. He rolls his hips side to side, his legs shifting from either side of Nico's knees to between them and back, as if he just can't find the right angle. Finally, Nico rolls him onto his side, unable to keep him steady any longer.

Will moves his hand off his cock, gripping the sheet with his fist, and turning back, twisting himself so he can kiss Nico over his shoulder.

Nico's need to take control overrides all else, his balls aching with the need to come, the pleasure throbbing and building in his gut. He digs his fingertips into the skin above Will's hipbones, owning Will's mouth with his tongue as he owns his ass with his cock, and Will cries out again. Nico glances down in time to catch Will's cock spurting without a hand on it, come pumped out from the force of Nico's dick against his prostate, and it's all over for Nico right then. Nico knows from experience how good Will's feeling right now, and even if Will wants him to last longer, it's impossible. He pumps into Will with a few forceful grunts, spilling inside him, his mind blown.

Still hard, Will works the head of his cock with his left hand, his right, holding Nico's hip in place, preventing him from pulling out. Nico watches Will's face as he comes again, finding the release he'd been seeking, the stress lines fading from around his eyes. His jaw relaxes until his cheeks are smooth, and the satisfied smile on his lips is about the most beautiful sight in Nico's living memory. Will starts to laugh, the slippery heat around Nico's cock, pushing him out in a mess of come and Nico realizes why sex felt so different this time. Will hadn't put a condom on him first.

Nico's mind whirls, going over all of their past discussions about why they use condoms, why Nico needs to just accept it – about health risks and leading by example. Has Will changed so much in two years that he'd abandoned his ideals? Something isn't right with Will. Nico knows it deep down, but looking into Will's face, at how he glows with absolute contentment, the trust and love in his eyes, it feels like the wrong time to bring reality crashing back down. He keeps quiet.

They lie together, wrapped loosely in each other's arms, savoring the afterglow in their shared gaze. Will is the first to speak. He still sounds wrecked, like he's using the endorphin rush from sex to cover how lost he feels and failing at it. "I love you, Nico. So much. You know that."

Nico shifts, his stomach twitching on the edge of sinking.

"Yeah?" Unease creeps through Nico's veins, his nerves frayed.

"Yeah," Will says and closes his eyes. He's still smiling, but Nico can't help wondering if it, too is a an attempt at covering up something darker, something broken.

Unsure how to bring up his concerns, Nico turns his attention to their physical state. Dealing with what he can fix without fear is easier to deal with than deep talk about emotions. Emotions are dangerous and with his powers newly sapped, Nico thinks he's a little too exposed to dive into them without having the option to shadow-travel away available.

"Will?"

"Hmm?" Will mumbles, half asleep.

"We are a mess and the sheets need changing."

Will opens his eyes and giggles, and damn it if that isn't the cutest he's ever looked. Nico's heart feels like it's expanding, warming his chest.

"Shower then?" Will asks, lifting a lazy eyebrow. "Shower and sheets, then sleep?"

Nico nods and smiles back at him. Keeping it simple, doing the things that need doing and can be done without much effort. Yeah. That's what they'll do for now. The rest of it, the deeper things, can wait.


	12. Chapter 12

It's Time to Begin

Nico

While Will takes a shower, Nico changes the sheets and tosses the old set into the Hades cabin hamper for the cleaning harpies. He'd waved off Will's invitation to shower together, arguing that they'd be done faster apart.

He worries his lower lip with his teeth as he picks up the discarded tube of lube, and then spots Will's doctor bag by the door. It's not the same as before as Apollo had taken that one away a few months after Pythia became a part of it. He recalls how reluctant Will had been to part with his old gift. But Apollo had insisted the replacement he offered was top of the line with newer features: it could transform from a doctor's bag, to his bow, to a staff, and now, a guitar. Will had reluctantly said goodbye to Pythia and handed Apollo his staff.

Was that what started this change? It had happened only a couple of weeks before the time shift, and as far as Nico can recall, Will hadn't seemed different. Nico's pulse throbs in his temples. He hasn't slept enough to dwell on this line of thought.

He crosses the room and brings the bag back to the bed, then opens it to put the lube inside.

"Hey," Will says, his voice soft.

Nico jumps, his heart racing. Will has never told him to not look in his doctor's bag, but Nico can't help feeling like he's been caught doing something wrong. He closes the latch on the bag and turns, handing it to Will.

"Just putting the uh, lube away," he says, still jittery.

Will cocks his head to the side, looking at Nico. His eyes are soft, his forehead creased in the middle. He tosses the bag to the foot of the bed. He doesn't look away, his expression open and concerned. Nico doesn't know why he still feels like he's being judged.

"Are you okay? You look ready to jump out of your skin."

Will climbs onto the bed and wraps his arms around Nico from behind, holding onto Nico's chest, and resting his chin on Nico's shoulder.

The closeness helps. Nico can feel his pulse slowing down, the cold sweat on his back warming. "I'm fine. Just worried about you," Nico tells him.

Will presses his fresh-from-the-shower-warm lips to Nico's neck, then smiles against Nico's skin.

"I saved you some hot water. Hurry up and come back 'cause I want to cuddle."

Nico chuckles. He's being ridiculous. He sighs and squeezes Will's hand against his chest. Will lets go of him and crawls under the covers after Nico stands up. The sight of Will lying back in Nico's bed, waiting for him to come back, his damp blond curls, his heat flushed face making his freckles stand out, is enough of an incentive to get showered and then come back as soon as possible.

XxxX

Nico walks back into his room, one towel wrapped around his hips and drying his hair with another, to find Will staring up at the high ceiling. The shattered look is in his eyes again. They're glassy with unshed tears. Nico pulls back the blankets and leaves his towels on the floor. He climbs into bed and wraps himself around Will. Will lifts his arm, automatically assuming their cuddling position and hugging Nico close, his hand cool on Nico's hot skin.

Nico's mind wanders over the events of the previous day as Will runs his thumb back and forth on the skin above Nico's elbow. Finally, he speaks up. "Tell me what happened … Lou Ellen, she's …" He stops, his spine going cold as a horrible thought occurs to him. Will stops moving his thumb, his breaths going silent. Nico no longer has access to his Underworld powers. All this time, he'd counted on Lou Ellen being fine, that he'd sense it if she died … He swallows past a painful lump in his throat.

"She's not dead," Will says, strained. His ribs tremble under Nico's cheek, like he's trying not to break down. "But there's nothing I can do to help her. She's … _insubstantial_, fading. It's like what happened to you … overdoing the shadow-travel, but different." Will keeps talking, his words spilling out as if he simply can't keep them inside any more. "It's like the Mist. She looks like a projected image, like a hologram. But with Mist magic, I'm not sure if it's actually her, or if she was abducted and somebody left a Mist version in her place. Hell, she could have done it herself to sneak off without getting caught, but that isn't really like her. I dunno. I've run through so many scenarios and come up with nothing. And with Cecil freaking out, his nerves got mine ramped up too, and I just had to get away. Chiron doesn't know what to make of it either, and, well … I think he sensed that my being there was only making Cecil and my fears grow. He told me to go and sleep, that he'd work on it … ask around." Will stops talking and sniffles, his body shuddering under Nico's cheek, his tears finally falling. "She's my best friend, you know? Other than you, and I just feel so helpless."

Nico listens, horrified. He's never felt more useless than he does right now. He'd always downplayed in his own mind, how much his Underworld magic meant to him, how much he had tied his identity up with it, and now that it's gone, he feels just as helpless as Will. He casts around for something to say, to not show how shaken up _he_ is by the news. The last thing he wants is for Will to turn around and try to comfort him, when Will needs comforting himself. "What about Cecil? How's he doing?"

Will scrubs his free hand over his face, pinching the corners of his eyes and clearing his tears. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Clovis said he'd keep an eye on him. I thought the Hypnos cabin would be the best place for him. Sort of give him a chance to recharge and not have to deal with wondering what happened when there aren't any answers, especially when there's nothing he could do to help, at least until we find something to go on, some hope to hold onto."

Nico nods. He moves his hand over Will's chest, finally able to touch him close up, to feel how plump and firm Will's pecs are under his palm. It sucks he can't enjoy it more.

Will hums softly above him, a contented sound. "That feels good. I've missed this: sleeping with you, being able to just be. Only one more summer until Mr. D will be out of our hair. I mean, if …" He sighs and stops talking.

Nico catches the end of Will's unfinished sentence without needing to hear him say it. _If you agree to come with me to Oregon afterwards._

He wants to tell Will that he'd go with him anywhere he wanted after camp, that he wants to live together, to share a place, a house, a bed, but if he said it now, Will might think he did out of guilt or unintended pressure. Nico doesn't want that doubt to exist even as a passing thought. If (_when_) he makes a decision, he's going to make it clear it is his choice and only when there isn't a risk of Will thinking it was made from any sense of duty.

After a long pause in which Will's breathing becomes slow and even and he's on the cusp of sleep, Nico asks: "Did you tell Chiron about your dad going supernova and disappearing? Any idea where he went?"

Will breaths a long sigh, and then yawns. "I forgot. Wasn't thinking about him at all. I'm really sleepy."

Nico holds him, not caring about how their skin sticks together with the shared body heat. It feels good to just be, like Will said. "I love you, Will," he says, his eyelids heavy and closing on their own.

Another long pause.

Right before Nico sinks into unconsciousness, he hears Will's whispered words. "Me too, Nico. Love you."


	13. Chapter 13

As the World Falls Down

Asclepius

Falling into Tartarus is not Asclepius's idea of a good time. But honestly, it's not as bad as it could be. At least he's not mortal. Zeus didn't seem to think of stripping him of his godly powers before having Boreas toss him into the pit.

Enveloped in darkness, the scent of sulphur strong in his nose, he clutches his staff and closes his eyes. If Hesiod was right in his estimate, it will take nine days to hit the bottom, he might as well rest up while he can, and, perhaps, make a final attempt at contacting Apollo.

It feels both like an eternity and no time at all before his eyelids glow red and he lifts them again. The air is thick and foul tasting. He can make out a glowing red line snaking across a vast landscape. He figures it is the river Phlegethon.

At least that simplifies matters. He won't have to travel far to find a source of replenishment. He wrinkles his nose at the thought. The backwards nature of Tartarus flies in the face of science and health. If there is a method of flourishing in such a place, Asclepius determines he will discover it. Perhaps through the process, he may expand his learning. It's been too long since he's faced a new challenge. Life as a god, segregated from the mortals, was so tedious, he's almost grateful for this new adventure. Anything to have the freedom to move about without Olympus breathing down his neck.

The surface rises to meet him faster than he'd anticipated and it's only the tickling of Spike's tongue in his ear that alerts him. He throws his hand forward and down, slowing his descent until he's able to take the final step onto the surface of Tartarus, his feet crunching on the gravel made up of broken glass and bone. Yet, even as he finds his balance, his stomach seems to lift inside his body, as if he'd missed a step walking downstairs, or was riding an elevator that lurched.

He furrows his eyebrows and exchanges a look with Spike. Spike sticks out his tongue and quickly draws it back in, then shakes his head sharply.

"I know. The air is poison here. We'll adapt," Asclepius tells the snake, then bends down, supporting himself with his staff and touches a clear patch of ground. It pulses under his palm and he draws back immediately, standing up again. "He's rising. I don't understand how this is possible, but we are very much not as far down as we ought to be."

The world lurches and Asclepius spins, holding his staff tightly in his fist, grinding his teeth as his legs push up against his his hip joint with a force that would shatter his pelvis had he been mortal. Apparently the upward propulsion has stopped, at least for the moment.

"Alright there, Spike?" Asclepius asks.

The python on his staff hisses and his crown of spikes fan out around his neck.

"Yes. I see your point. We should take a quick survey of the terrain, take some samples, and get busy surviving. Keep a sharp eye for monsters, would you?"

XxxX

It feels like days later, though Asclepius suspects only hours have passed, he reaches the Phlegethon. He scrapes his calves climbing down to the bank, littered with obsidian shards, and a stream of golden ichor runs down his leg into his shoes. He calmly draws a phial from his jacket pocket and collects a sample, then stoppers it and slips it back into his pocket.

While he's here, he plans to study all he can, from how the poisonous atmosphere effects immortality in a physical sense, to determining what poisons are, in fact, beneficial in this environment. It stands to reason there must be a method of healing, even in Tartarus, for even in the mortal world, some toxic substance can be rendered neutral and even beneficial. In this place – he sighs, breathing out the noxious air, tasting ichor in his throat – where a river of fire sustains life, anything is possible.

He retrieves a small cup from his pocket, humming a hymn to his Apollo in thanks for gifting him with the garment so many eons ago, and draws a draught of the fire. He brings it to his lips and swallows it fast. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, holding himself upright with his staff. He has to fight his own nature to accept his new reality. Drinking fire runs counter to all he's ever held dear.

When the spasms pass and his throat feels like it's been burned open and scabbed over he opens his eyes again. Spike has his crown exposed, his nose pointing as if he senses danger.

Asclepius follows the direction with his eyes until he finds the disturbance. At first, he wrinkles his nose in disgust. What appears to be a fluid-filled blister on Tartarus's skin trembles, ready to burst, but then he catches sight of a humanoid shape within it. Not even sparing a thought, he rushes to investigate, the instinct to assist and heal overriding self-preservation.

It's a woman. Her blue robes and dark hair swirl around her body, caught up and moving slowly as though the fluid surrounding her is viscous. She had been pressing hard against the bulging surface, trying to break it, but backs away when she spots Asclepius approaching.

He holds up his hands, palms forward, his staff resting the crook of his elbow, and stares intently, trying to get a clear view of her face. She seems familiar, though he knows he's never laid eyes on this woman before. The fact she's growing on the surface of Tartarus means she's not mortal, but neither does she seem to be a monster.

Apparently satisfied he's not planning to hurt her, she rises closer to the surface again and slams her hand against the thick membrane separating them. Her eyes flash, dark and angry and then she points at Asclepius's feet.

He looks and picks up an obsidian shard from beside his foot. He kneels, his staff in his left hand, supporting him, the shard in his right. She points at a section of membrane above her curled knees, then backs up as much as she can, hugging her legs.

Asclepius brings the shard down and punctures the membrane in a gush of gooey pink tinged secretions. He doesn't even flinch as they splatter his suit.

The woman sits up and takes a deep breath, wrinkling her nose at the acrid air. She meets Asclepius's eyes, her expression softening. "Well, that was disgusting. It's my first time re-forming."

Asclepius offers his hand and helps her up. She stands two feet taller than him and radiates a gentle power that immediately puts him at ease. He cocks his head as he studies her face. "You remind me of Artemis," he says, surprising himself at his boldness. He'd meant to only think it. "But less angry. I don't sense any bloodlust in you."

She smiles at him, almost appearing smug, another expression he's seen Artemis wear.

"I am flattered. Artemis is my daughter. I am Leto."

Stunned, Asclepius stares at his grandmother. He can't recall her having been vanquished. And then he's aware of Leto snapping her fingers before his face, her voice fearful.

"We have to find shelter. Look."

Asclepius comes back to himself in an instant, unsure of how much time had passed. Across the expanse of Tartarus's terrain, a darkness descends, rolling toward them and spreading like blood in water. 

XxxX

Nico

Nico gasps, drawing in his breaths like he's just escaped drowning. He flings his arms searching for something to hold onto. He was back in Tartarus, falling, the pull too strong to fight. His throat burns with the memory.

And then hands touch his body, cool against his chest, his heart hammering hard enough to break his ribs. "Nico … Gods of Olympus … You're diaphoretic."

Nico blinks, focusing on Will's voice, coming back to himself. He meets Will's eyes in the dim light of morning that filters in through his cabin's window. He lies back on his pillow, grimacing at how soggy it feels and tries to slow his racing heart.

Will grabs his doctor's bag and pulls out his blood pressure cuff. Nico waves him off when he spots it. "No … n-no," he stutters. "It was only a dream. I'm alright."

Will doesn't seem convinced. His forehead creases, his fingers twitching like he really wants to take Nico's pulse.

Nico's mind whirls, grasping at the tendrils of his memory before they slip away. He'd been there. Tartarus. Witnessed Asclepius's descent. Asclepius as good as confirmed it; Tartarus is rising. Deep down, though he really doesn't want to go there, Nico knows it's his fault. When he hadn't trusted Will to vanquish Python on his own, Nico had called the Underworld closer to the Earth's surface. It's not a far stretch, now that he knows Will's powers make his Underworld abilities grow, to imagine he'd reached too deeply, that he'd called Tartarus closer as well. Maybe that's why Hades stripped him of his abilities, why he wants Nico safely out of the picture – Hades doesn't trust him to know his own strength. The truth is that if it really _is_ his fault, he's responsible for fixing it.

"I can't _not_ do anything," he says, more to himself than to Will. "Tartarus _is_ rising."

Will runs his hand over Nico's forehead, pushing his damp bangs out of his face. When he speaks, he sounds uncertain, almost like he's trying to be kind, to not offend. "What _can_ you do, Nico? Your powers …" He leaves the rest of his sentence unspoken.

Nico bites back his retort as he looks at Will, really looks him over. The circles under Will's eyes are dark, his skin pallid. He must have poured a lot of his power into trying to do something for Lou Ellen.

Last night … Nico covers Will's hand with his own and gives it a squeeze. He's never seen Will so desperate, so needy. He wants to curse their situation. It's not fair that he's missing time and seems to be the only person to notice. It isn't fair that he and Hazel had their powers stripped without a proper explanation, and not even by Hades himself. It isn't fair that Will needs to deal with Lou Ellen disappearing, and realizing that his boyfriend doesn't fully recall the past two years they had together. It's not fair that Zephyros and Mr. D seem to know something about what is happening, Apollo too, and they're not doing anything about it.

It's not fair that Asclepius was thrown into Tartarus when, without him, the Delphic Oracle wouldn't have been saved, Apollo would have fallen and Zeus is almost willfully blind to reality.

Will shifts uncomfortably. He turns his hand over and links their fingers together, watching Nico intently. "Nico? What are you planning?"

Nico breathes out deeply, and then sits forward. "We need to finish the quest, Will. The prophecy hasn't been fulfilled. I think we need to find your dad, have you do that weird reading of his 'not answers' thing, and then we have to petition Chiron to let us go."

Will chews on his lower lip, thinking over Nico's words. His eyes have a faraway look to them as he seems to stare through Nico, not seeing him. "Yeah," he says finally. "I guess."


	14. Chapter 14

Forget What We're Told

Piper

"How are you feeling?" Piper asks, glancing at Rachel from the driver's seat of Reyna's SUV.

Reyna had insisted they take it with them to Berkeley as the frame was specially designed to repel monsters. Even though it's been so long since Piper has even seen a monster, she still feels better driving a souped up badass-mobile. Eyes back on the road, Piper slows her speed. The traffic onto Route 24 is backed up.

Rachel heaves a sigh as Piper slows the car to a crawl. "I'm not sure."

Piper drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "I hate driving in California. I wonder what's causing _this_ jam."

She's making small talk and she knows it. It's weird though, like a disconnect falling between herself and Rachel. Rachel hasn't had an 'oracle event' like this morning in so long, Piper isn't quite sure how to deal with it anymore.

She thinks back to the first time she and Rachel had met, the day Hera took over Rachel's body, her hands gripping Piper's shoulders like steel clamps. Even after the ambrosia had healed the bruises, she could feel Rachel's grip as if it was imprinted bone deep. She shudders, then tries to shake off the memory. Thinking about the past isn't going to make the awkwardness between them any easier to bridge.

Rachel's phone buzzes as traffic starts moving sluggishly forward again. Piper has to force herself to focus on the road, and on not rear-ending the car in front of her as Rachel takes the call. Piper tries not to eavesdrop, but the one-sided conversation is hard to ignore.

_"Yeah, hi."_

_"You too."_

_"It's all fine."_

_"No. I've told you already I'm dating Reyna. There won't be any meeting of boys."_

_"Honestly, I don't give a rat's ass. Yes. You can tell mom those exact words."_

_"Right, whatever."_

_"Not interested."_

_"I'm sorry you feel that way. But if you could hear what you sound like from my ears, you'd realize that I feel entirely justified in my response and I have no guilt at all for how it makes you feel."_

Piper shifts, her cheeks heating up from secondary embarrassment for her friend. She doesn't know exactly what the conversation is about, but based on how it started, she can guess Rachel's family doesn't approve of how she's living her life.

Rachel puts her phone in her lap and stares out the passenger window as the tension between them seems to condense even further. Piper's skin crawls, her body hair standing on end, her heart pumping faster and harder. She hates feeling this way, especially not knowing _why_. There has to be a way to cut the tension. She's just got to be brave and find it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, her eyes tightening at the corners at how cliche that came out sounding. But seriously, what's she supposed to say? When Rachel doesn't answer, she decides to just barrel on through. Normally, Rachel is the one that doesn't ever shut up, that talks at Piper when Piper is feeling quiet until something she says lights the flame of conversation and Piper winds up spilling her guts and feeling so much better afterward. "My relationship with my dad isn't great either."

Rachel chuckles and the tension does seem to lift a little, though Piper keeps her eyes on the road.

"I'm sorry. I know you're probably feeling all this weirdness coming off me. I know it's not fair. I just needed a minute to let it sink in. Sorta digest what he just said, you know?"

Piper nods, relaxing her grip on the steering wheel. Her fingers are stiff from holding on so tightly. "Absolutely," she says.

Rachel is quiet for a couple of minutes and the state of the traffic starts wearing on Piper's nerves.

"It's like a parking lot," Rachel observes. "The highway. The way our country moved to individualism in the last century, the way they promoted car culture and called it freeing really was a method of cutting people off from each other. It's like what they tout as freedom and the 'American Dream' is really just how they disenfranchised the collective voice of the people, how now we've been shuttered into a position that's easy to control, and because they focus on hopes and dreams, reality isn't even noticed by the majority of people. This traffic jam, it's what happens when you throw a wrench into the machine we've become. And there's no changing it, not without a mass upheaval, and that can't happen because we've been rendered silent. A mass of individuals who no longer speak to each other, that don't cross the lines we've been boxed into and are taught to just accept it and focus on the dream."

"Umm," Piper says. "Yeah. That doesn't help the weirdness at all."

Rachel chuckles again. It sounds more like she's laughing at finding herself in a dead end than because she finds anything humorous.

"My father is one of the few who has access to the big picture in this country, and instead of doing something proactive to change the system, to actually improve the state of things, he continues to perpetuate the mistakes that got us here in the first place. Like, he's so blinded by his own inflated words and hopes, he actually believes he's doing good. He has no idea what it's like to be on the other side of the decisions he makes. I hate it."

Piper's heart aches thinking about her own father. He also has a lot of money, and is in a position he could reach a lot of people, but coming from the very 'other side' Rachel's talking about, he's already given up his voice and instead lives as if in a dream. He chooses all the roles that will make money, but not create waves, not stand for a larger message and he turns down the roles where he might be able to take a stand, to be a voice for the native people that still live under the thumb of centuries old oppression.

"I can't even tell my father the truth about who my mother is. I can't have a conversation with him that is more than surface deep." The words just fall out and Piper doesn't try to stop them.

She can feel Rachel looking at her, but as traffic is still moving forward what feels like inches at a time, Piper can't meet her eyes.

"It's hard too, because I know he's got a huge heart, a lot of love and hurt, and deep down he has the blood of a warrior, but fear keeps him frozen. It's a lot like you said, like people stuck in the system, shuffled along according to somebody else's big picture: if he rocks the boat, everything he's worked for – to get us off the res, to provide me with the education he had to fight to get, to just be accepted into the mainstream as if he belongs – it's all conditional. One misstep and he could lose it all. This is the legacy of western civilization, living in the mire left over from our parents' and grandparents' greed and fear."

"Wait, why can't you tell him about your mother? You mean he doesn't realize … Oh gods. He doesn't know? Piper, I'm sorry."

Piper's face grows hot, like her sinuses are reacting to allergy season. She blinks, surprised to find tears on her eyelashes. "No …" she pauses. "Well, I was going to say it's fine, but it really isn't fine at all. It's just, why haven't we ever talked about our daddy issues before? We've been living in the same apartment for over a year."

Rachel nods, taking a deep breath as if she's bracing herself. "Maybe it just wasn't the right time. I don't know about you, but just saying this much now has pretty much dissolved the tension."

Piper grins and traffic starts picking up again. They're only a couple of miles from the Caldecott Tunnel. "Yeah. I think we should talk about it more when we're not stuck in traffic."

Rachel hums and picks up her phone again. "Definitely. Reyna should get in on the conversation too. I think we _all_ have daddy issues." There's a lull in the conversation while Rachel sends a text, probably to tell Reyna to send somebody out to meet them, and then she speaks again, so quiet Piper almost misses it. "Apollo too."

Piper pulls off the highway and takes the side road straight into the Mist hiding the entrance to Camp Jupiter from the mortal world. Rachel doesn't elaborate and Piper doesn't push the issue, but the idea of the gods themselves dealing similarly with mistakes from their own forbears doesn't offer much comfort or hope. She gets why people seem to want to ignore what is and turn their attention to hoping for better, but the truth is that nothing gets better if you ignore the faults in reality.

XxxX

Reyna meets them outside the tunnel leading to the Little Tiber and Piper smiles watching her embrace Rachel after being apart for so long. It's beyond cool to see Reyna in love. The brightness in her face, the way her eyes light up and how she smiles without even realizing it is a huge change from how guarded and serious she was when Piper had first met her.

Rachel turns and slips her arm around Reyna's waist, Reyna's arm settling across her shoulders, and then winks at Piper and jerks her head, encouraging her to follow them through the tunnel.

"Reyna?" a voice Piper hasn't heard in too long echoes in the darkness. Piper's heart leaps in her chest, her breathing speeding up. "Do you see them yet?"

"Jason!" Piper exclaims and picks up her pace as they round a corner and light from the end of the tunnel floods the floor. He waits at the entrance, looking perfect and handsome as ever, his blond hair grown out a little longer, his eyes sparkling.

Reyna and Rachel turn sideways so Piper can pass them and Jason hugs her tightly when she flings herself into his arms.

"It's so good to hug you again," he murmurs against her cheek and she realizes her feet aren't touching the ground.

She doesn't even care that her face gets hot or that anybody who passes can see them, she holds on tight and inhales Jason's scent as if she's never smelled anything so good.

Reyna calls out from some distance away. She and Rachel must have continued on to the bridge. "The Senate is in session now, and I think Frank and Hazel will be busy with the legion until late tonight. We'll all catch up in the morning."

Jason lifts his head and sets Piper back on her feet, but doesn't release his hold on her. "Thanks, Reyna! See you then."

Piper looks up at him, watching the funny little smirk thing he does when he flirts. "You want to tell me about all you've been up to the past few months? Show me some new temples?"

He shakes his head, his gaze serious and fixed on her eyes. He leans in close enough to kiss, but doesn't. "I want to take you back to my room and get reacquainted. What do you think? We've got until tomorrow morning?"

Piper does not need any more convincing.


	15. Chapter 15

Chasing Loose Threads

Rachel

It's weird, Rachel thinks as she follows Reyna into her room in the praetorium, how different she feels revisiting this place. The room, never lavishly furnished, is now void of Reyna's personality. All of Reyna's belongings fit into two suitcases which sit by the door.

Reyna takes her hand and pulls her so they stand face to face, almost an embrace. Her eyes are intense this close up, and the emotions Rachel reads in them send shivers down her spine. Worry, fear, hope, and desire seem to flash in equal measure in the dark brown.

"I missed you," Reyna says, sounding as if she's trying to hold onto her usual determination, but is also uncertain.

"I missed you too," Rachel says. She brushes the side of Reyna's face with her thumb. "What's the matter? You look worried."

The creases in Reyna's forehead soften as she smiles. "Come and sit with me on the bed?"

"Of course."

The air between them feels off, like the disconnected feeling that had settled between herself and Piper in the car is here has clung to Rachel. She rubs her arms, then climbs onto the bed and settles in next to Reyna.

"Sorry, Reyna. I – I know I seem a little bit off right now. It's not you, this tension, the weirdness in the air; it happened in the car with Piper too. I think it's got to do with the vision I had this morning. I always feel a little disconnected when the Oracle does her thing, but it's never hung around so long before. I keep thinking I'm back to normal and then it comes back."

"Tell me about it," Reyna says, drawing Rachel back. "Any of it, all of it. It's been a long time since you've had a vision, and Piper said you repeated the prophecy?"

Rachel nods and Reyna holds her, slipping an arm over her shoulders. She sighs, leaning against Reyna's warm body. Putting words to the experience, the way she feels after having a vision is hard, but she's going to try to share it with Reyna. Talking it out, putting it into words might be what it takes to get rid of the feeling.

"Having a vision is weird, and this one happened while I was sleeping, so it was even more disorienting. Okay, I'm going to try to just tell you what it feels like."

Reyna hums her understanding and Rachel takes a couple of relaxing breaths before starting. "It's like being in a different realm. No, wait. More like I'm still here on Earth, but I've slipped into another layer of reality, if that makes any sense at all. So, say there are multiple layers of existence. You have the shadow realm, where Nico goes when he shadow-travels. You've described it before."

Reyna bobs her head and crosses her ankles. They're sitting side by side, backs against the wall, legs stretched out.

Rachel focuses on her feet as she talks, brow creasing as her thoughts slot into order and she translates them into words to share with Reyna. "Then there's the layer behind the Mist. I think that's closer to where I go when the Oracle hijacks my body. Like I'm still there, but I lose myself a little bit, like I'm out of time and space, out of the present, and when I come back, I recall the words of whatever prophecy happened, but I don't have much in the way of insights for interpreting them unless the Oracle thinks it's important and clues me in. Sometimes she whispers in my head and it feels just like a random thought occurred to me, or if somebody asks a question and then the answer just falls out when I couldn't have known it before. But that's not what this last vision was like."

She stops talking for a moment. Talking helps. She's already starting to feel more in control of her body again, more normal.

"What was different about this time?" Reyna prompts.

Rachel turns to meet Reyna's eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. She looks back at her feet, the smile slipping again, like she's going back to the place she's trying to describe. It isn't the sort of place smiles happen.

"This time, I was there … physically, only it wasn't really physically, because I was asleep." She stops, then starts again. "Damn it. It's hard to explain without sounding stupid."

Reyna gives Rachel's bicep a squeeze of encouragement. "I'm not judging. Feel free to sound as stupid as it takes to tell it like it is."

Rachel nods, though she frowns. The sensation starts creeping back as she remembers being in the dark corridor of Hades palace, the darkness behind her, malevolent and intelligent. "Okay. It was like a dream. I was there, but not. I couldn't interact with what was happening around me, like I was just witnessing it. Maybe like a ghost feels when it's around people who can't sense it?" She shakes her head, still falling short at explaining herself. "Okay, so I was in Hades' palace, and then the darkness behind me started growing and I was scared. I ran until I reached the throne room and Hermes was there with Hades. They were having some sort of argument and they didn't notice me run past them. But they noticed when the darkness followed me." She takes a shuddering breath. "Then, the Oracle told me to pay attention, that it was prophetic dream and that was different, too. See, she's never directly talked to me before. Like in her own creepy voice. Anyway, afterwards I was back in the real world, I remember watching myself walk to the bathroom where Piper was, but I was still in my body, still aware, and at the same time outside. I witnessed the Oracle recite the prophecy again. And then I passed out."

A cold tickle at the base of her neck distracts Rachel for a minute. She stops talking and sits forward, rubbing at it. Then Reyna's warm hands take over and Rachel drops hers into her lap.

Reyna massages Rachel's back, waiting for her to keep going.

"So then I came to, and Piper was there texting you, and I just felt out of alignment with the world. I hated having that happen right when we should have been coming for the ceremony, and … and then … In the car, when we finally made it on the road, my dad called."

Reyna's hands stop rubbing, then start again, but with more force.

"He didn't say anything he hasn't already. But talking to him … it kind of reminded me that I come from _this_ world, that I'm part of it, and the weird feeling between me and Piper lifted after we talked about the call, about our fathers …" She giggles, glad to be talking it out, glad to be spending time with Reyna again. "I got a little philosophical."

Reyna chuckles lightly, her thumb pressing a hard knot of muscle. It relaxes with a pleasing twinge and Rachel sighs into it, letting the warmth flood her system, chasing down her arms, back, and legs.

"You like that?" Reyna asks. The breathiness in her voice, the timbre deeper than normal, it's arousing.

Rachel nods. "Yeah. It feels really good."

Reyna leans in closer and softly kisses Rachel's back where the knot had been, then whispers next to her ear. "Lie down on your stomach. I'll do the rest of your back and you can keep talking."

"Yeah," Rachel says, warming up all over as Reyna brushes her neck with another soft kiss. "Definitely." She leans forward on her hands so she can reposition her legs, and then lies down, her face near the foot of the bed. Reyna straddles the backs of Rachel's thighs, her hands hot on Rachel's back even through her T-shirt.

It's tempting to just give up under the sensations of Reyna's hands on her body, to stop trying to make sense of the stupid prophetic dream and how it makes her feel, to just roll over and enjoy Reyna's body.

"Tell me more," Reyna says. "The weirdness in the car, you said it keeps coming back?"

Rachel groans as Reyna starts in on a really tight knot right behind her shoulder blade. Reyna leans forward again to apply more pressure. The ends of her ponytail brush the back of Rachel's arm, making her break out in goosebumps. The sensation chases an idea into her brain, the perfect way to describe the sensation she's been trying to explain. "Stop a sec," she says and lifts her head, rising on her elbows.

Reyna stops massaging, then flops onto her side next to Rachel, looking up. Her eyes are bright, her lips twitching as she waits for Rachel to go on.

"I just thought of a way to put it. The weird feeling. It's like walking through a spider's web. When I was in that space, I was trapped. I felt like all of my senses were alert for danger, and now that it's passed, they start creeping back. Like, I keep trying to swipe the stray threads away, and I think I got them all, but then I find another one clinging to me, trying to drag me back. I think it's okay though. I _can_ brush them off; I just have to deal with each one as I find it."

Reyna holds Rachel in place with her eyes, smoldering, deep, and Rachel can't help but fall into her gaze. She leans forward, drawn to Reyna as if to a siren's song, and when their lips meet, the last of the tendrils of her vision seem to finally fall away. She's present now, in this moment, in the warm caress of soft lips against lips, the comfort of smiles and strong arms embracing her – she's home again.


	16. Chapter 16

Corrupted Nostalgia

Rachel

"Yeah, but it was really a profound observation …"

Piper's voice echoes off the high domed ceiling over the bath. Rachel thinks calling this place the baths is an understatement. She follows Reyna into the main room where their friends are all gathered at the far side of the swimming pool size bathtub.

"I mean, the idea that human civilization inherits what remains from the previous generations, and like, it's similar to how the gods and the titans started out." Piper looks up as Rachel and Reyna reach the stairs leading into the water. "Hey! We were just talking about our conversation from earlier. Traffic jam philosophy!" She grins and scoots closer to Annabeth on the sunken bench, making room for them to join.

Percy and Jason stand further out in the deeper water, but near enough to take part in the conversation and Hazel and Frank sit on the low bench against the wall on the other side of the stairs.

Jason and Frank avert their eyes as Reyna and Rachel drop their towels and step into the water, while Percy responds to Piper. They sit down beside Piper and Reyna answers Annabeth's wink hello with a quiet chuckle.

"But," Percy says. "So is … is that like an excuse or something? Or are you saying that what's happening in the world is just inevitable?"

Annabeth raises her eyebrow and looks at Percy bobbing in the water. "What do you mean, Percy?"

The water splashes up Percy's chest as he treads water as if responding to his agitation. "Like, the whole deal with global warming; the issues in this country with income inequality; the whole messed up way mortals divide themselves. You know, putting some above others, making their messed up viewpoints real and treating some people as worth more than the rest. Like based on where they come from, how much money and power they have, and even what color their skin is. So, you're saying the previous generation's mistakes that the next generation inherits and basically gets stuck with … it goes all the way back to the gods?"

Piper looks pensive as she digests Percy's words, and Annabeth fixes wide eyes on Percy, her lips turning up at the corner. She looks a little bit stunned at Percy's questions and whole lot taken with him. Rachel thinks it's adorable, and then Piper draws her attention away, responding to Percy.

"Well, sort of. That might be it on like a really big scale, but you can see it within the divisions themselves, right Rachel?"

Rachel tilts her head as she meets Piper's eyes. Reyna holds her hand under the water, their legs touching as they sit hip to hip. She's not sure she's following the conversation well enough. After her conversation with Reyna, and finally figuring out how to reconnect with the world, she'd lost herself again in the irresistible pull of Reyna's body calling out for hers. "Go on," she tells Piper. "I want to hear how you see it."

The smirk Piper gives her makes Rachel blush. As the daughter of Aphrodite, it's likely Piper can read exactly where Rachel's thoughts are wandering. The whole aura of 'flying-high-on-making-love-and-didn't-expect-to-find-a-political-debate-when-I-came-here-to-wash' that she wears, trying to play it cool, is probably as clear as day to Piper.

"Okay. So, my dad is Cherokee, right? The Cherokee nation and all the nations indigenous to this land have basically been swept up like human dust bunnies. Pushed into corners, hidden under rugs, out of sight, out of mind of the white people who took over."

Rachel's heart sinks at Piper's words. It's an instinctual response, guilt. The same reaction seems to flash across Jason, Percy, and Annabeth's faces too, but nobody denies it. It's Piper's turn to talk.

"It's what happened or at least, it's how I feel when I think about it. The only way to keep on living, to keep existing in this new, 'western civilized' world when reminders of how little our people count to the country gets rubbed in our faces wherever we go, is to find an in; a way to assimilate. It's not what we want, but it is how it works. It's not how it _should_ work, just how it is …"

She pushes on through the uncomfortable silence that falls over the room. "My dad found his 'In'. He made it as an actor and got big. He got away from the reservation, and still, even now that we have money, even though his name is a household name, all these people are fans of his and throw themselves at him when they meet him, the learned idea that he's only made it as long as he doesn't make waves keeps him quiet. And the bullshit truth is that he isn't stupid for not speaking up, for not taking on roles that are his actual ancestry. As soon as he makes some bigshot bigot uncomfortable, he could lose everything he's gained with a single stroke of their pen. So, he inherited both his warrior spirit to survive and be strong as well as the brokenness that's been beaten into all of us. It's the same with you guys, I'm sure. Not on an intellectual level of understanding what is right and wrong – I doubt any of us will disagree that a system that allows this to happen is not wrong – but the deep down culturally ingrained feelings we have."

"I know what you're saying," Annabeth says, her frown deepening. "Being born white, even though my life hasn't been easy, I've never felt like my voice didn't count, that I would be overlooked or singled out based on how I look, or that people would notice me and single me out as more of a threat than those of another race. And I do it too, it's like a part of the collective mindset to notice people who look different and to be more wary based on that. I hate that. I hate that it happens. I just fucking hate this world and how it's all gone wrong, how there isn't an easy way to fix it. There's just no perfect solution and half or more of the people in it, don't even recognize the problem.

Hazel has been quiet for the conversation up to this point, but she speaks now. Her voice starts low, but grows louder as they turn to her and listen.

"I know what Piper's saying too, about how in spite of her tribe's long history of strength and endurance, how systemic abuse and the messages you get raised with injure that spirit, how it gets broken down. My grandmother was a slave. Even after slavery had supposedly ended, she wasn't ever free. She'd never known any other way of life, and when she had my mother … well, my mom was born with the rebellious spirit my grandmother repressed. My grandmother died, and Marie, she went the opposite direction. I think it was the hurt from being considered worth less than the white people, that's what drove her to become what she did. She was greedy for power, for a way to have something and be in control of it. It came as a response to having no claim to anything, no rights. And she turned around and took it out on me, the internalized hatred she didn't want to see in herself, she saw it reflected in me. But … I don't know. Maybe it's because I died young; maybe it's because I'm a demigod; maybe it's all the years I spent in Asphodel, not forgetting who I was, but puzzling it all out and thinking about how where my mother came from set her up, set us both up for ending as we did. And now that I'm alive again, now that I'm a praetor, I can't stay silent. I have to count on the fact that New Rome does not operate on slavery, that though America was built on it, as was old Rome, that attitudes can change, that education and working as a team can set things right.

"So that means that even the gods can change," Percy adds. "Even after all these eons of messing up, and the next generation blaming the first for their problems, then making it worse for the one that follows – on and on – it's possible that we could make it right. We're demigods and come from both the mortal world with its problems, as well as from the gods and their issues. _We're_ the ones who need to stand up and make it happen in both places, right?"

Jason wrinkles his forehead, treading water beside Percy, and speaks up next. Rachel's not sure if his squinting is from thinking or because his glasses are off.

"The problem with the gods though, is my dad. He's going backwards instead of forwards. He's repeating his old mistakes all over again, like he's stuck in a loop."

"Yeah?" Annabeth interrupts, scoffing. "And who's the driving force behind him making those mistakes? That cow queen, Hera. She's so desperate to control him and force him to be faithful to her that she drives him in the wrong direction as he tries to escape her. Really, if she'd just let go and accept that it's not his nature to commit to only one goddess …"

"It's greater than that, Annabeth," Rachel says, taking in all of their conversations and points of views. "Hera, more than anything, is the goddess of feminism. She wants equality. She was born even before Zeus, the first three children of Kronos and Rhea were female, and they were devoured, as were Hades and Poseidon. I mean, it's great that Zeus worked to free them, but after he did, when the brothers drew lots for their powers, Hera was slighted because why should it have only been the male gods to qualify for them? Even after she married Zeus and took on the title of queen, she tried to make the pantheon democratic. She reasoned with Apollo, Athena, and Poseidon and convinced them to help her. They all agreed the system was flawed and would lead to Zeus repeating the old prophecy, fearing his children would usurp him and in trying to avoid it, he'd fulfill it. That's where we're at with the gods. There is not a single source currently existing that holds responsibility for all the blame. And Hera is right in the idea that only through opening the board to full disclosure, to equal status, can any strides to change it happen.

Annabeth frowns. "Yeah? Well, I still don't like her. Her lofty claims for equal status end at the Olympian gods. She sees many demigods as not worthy of being counted. Nico and Hazel, she doesn't count them as she doesn't count Hades. Tyson, Ella, all those who are not a mix of 'pure' titan, Olympian, and sometimes human don't qualify as equal in her eyes.

Only Frank and Reyna have remained silent. Reyna clears her throat and they all turn to her.

"It's fitting," she says, "that we're having this talk here in the baths. The baths are part of the reason Rome lasted as long as it did. All citizens of ancient Rome used the public baths. It was the common denominator of the society, that those in power and those who were subservient had the same needs for cleanliness. The baths provided a place for those without a voice in the senate to appeal with the senators, to state their points of view, and for senators to see things from differing perspectives. It wasn't perfect, but the idea that – stripped down, all citizens are the same – is something I like to think about when I'm here. It makes me wonder if there could ever be something similar established in the modern world, some other method of giving everybody a voice.

"There is," Frank says, speaking up for the first time. "But even it is imperfect and under attack by people in power trying to restrict it. The internet."

Another silence falls, and Rachel can almost hear the thoughts buzzing around in her friends' brains. She wonders if the Delphic Oracle is actually picking up on them, and the buzzing is her picking up feedback, when Percy breaks the tension.

"Wow, that's deep, Frank."

Frank's cheeks redden, but he smiles when he sees Percy grinning at him. He lifts his arms over his head, stretches, and then yawns. He settles back again, slipping an arm around Hazel's shoulders and Rachel nearly bursts out laughing when she foresees Percy voicing his thought that Frank pulled off a smooth move, but Frank speaks first. "I think it's going to be Apollo, the one god it all comes down on."

A cold tickle starts at the base of Rachel's head, where her neck begins and spreads down her spine as Frank continues to talk.

"Zeus singled him out for blame after the war with Gaea, and then the whole thing went down with his oracle. I've always liked Apollo. He seems to _get_ the mortal world a lot more than the other gods. If any of the Olympians has the power to inspire changes in the godly realm and here in the mortal one, it's him."

When the cold sensation reaches the middle of Rachel's back, she remembers what the Oracle had told her in her vision, and stands up straight, not even thinking about the fact she's totally naked and now everybody is staring at her.

"Shit," she says. "Reyna. I just remembered. The oracle, she told me..." she looks helplessly at Reyna. "I have to get a message to Apollo. We have to go back to Camp Half-Blood."


	17. Chapter 17

Bound to the Past

Zephyros

Zephyros's thoughts are as varied and unformed as he is in his wind form. It's a comfortable state of being, light and airy, and he breezes past the palaces and gardens of the gods who call Olympus home. The timeless state of the place, strangely draws his focus. How so many eons have passed, and yet Olympus still stands, the pantheon remains intact.

Alighting in the gardens surrounding Zeus's palace, Zephyros ruffles his wings and glances down to make sure he is still invisible. He needs to put his thoughts in order before announcing his arrival. He hovers beside a spring, listening to the music the water makes as it trickles over the rocks. The melody seems altered, more subdued than when he was here last.

His invisible feet leave prints in the muddy banks and Zephyros savors the squishy sensation between his toes. A long, long time ago he had walked a similar bank, his attention drawn by a shining young god splashing in the water with the nymphs who attended him.

Zephyros retreats a few paces and sits under a white poplar tree, his back resting against the trunk, wings tucked on either side. In those days, the days of Zeus's boyhood, hidden by the nymphs from his father, Zeus had charmed all who were allowed to meet him. He was a ball of energy: singing, making up jokes, forever seeking to be the center of attention and to earn smiles and adoration from those he entertained. One nymph, in fact a Titan goddess, was particularly enamored of him. Metis was crafty and wise, the goddess of good counsel. Together, she and Zeus's mother, Rhea, determined how to put Zeus into a position where he could free his siblings and overtake Kronos's rule.

He'd been successful, and Zephyros recalls the Olympian triumph over the Titans, a shiver running down his spine. War changes people, gods included, and Zeus would never again be the same happy go lucky youngster that had charmed so many. He sought to take Metis for his wife, and despite how she resisted him, even appealing to Zephyros to help conceal her on occasion, she admitted that her fate was already sealed and she would have to submit to Zeus. All actions had consequences, she'd explained, and overthrowing the Titans, unsettling the balance of nature, had earned her a large one. Zephyros hadn't known what she meant until the horrible day Zeus swallowed her whole. From then on, Zephyros bowed to Zeus's whims, not because he found him charming, but out of fear. Just as his father had, Zeus had sidestepped fate.

Zephyros swallows the bitter taste in his mouth and allows his mind to drift along with the melancholy song of the spring. He recalls the day Hera and Zeus married, and upon their exchange of vows, Hera insisted her handmaidens follow her example. Iris, Hera's personal messenger, appealed to Zephyros. They were siblings, and similar in not favoring the opposite sex as lovers, but together they could appear to follow Hera's command and not be bitter toward each other.

After Hera conceived Ares and declared herself matron of motherhood, Zephyros and Iris made love once, a beautiful and weird experience filled with yearning. It was only natural their son was a winged god, Pothos, and destined to become an erote when Aphrodite revealed herself. He was the god of desire and longing for one not present.

The memory spawns more as Zephyros broods in the poplar's shade. He yearns for Apollo, the taste of him still lingering on Zephyros's lips as the past floods his mind, how their lives first touched each other.

Though Leto was already pregnant with the twin gods when Zeus married Hera, Hera's jealousy was relentless. Iris complained to Zephyros of the task she'd been set, to secure the promise from every land to not allow Leto a place to give birth. Zephyros, learning from Iris that Delos was one island not rooted to the earth, guided Leto's ship safely there. Neither of them would outwardly refuse Zeus and Hera, but together, they could silently circumvent their errors in judgment, and in a sense, protest the bondage they lived under.

The moment Apollo was born, Zephyros gave up the claim over his own heart. Apollo had it before he even recognized Zephyros was present. When Apollo declared himself the god of music, crafted a lute, and began to sing, Zephyros knew he would always follow Apollo. From the beginning, he accepted he was not a god in the same league, that Apollo was destined to become an Olympian, and that his admiration must always be from afar.

Zephyros smiles as the memory washes over him, the long slow days after Apollo's triumph over Python when Zephyros would dance along with him, invisible, and making the trees rustle in his warm, sweet-scented breezes. And then his lips pull into a frown as the memories turn sour. Eros, taunted by Apollo, began the eons long torment for both of them. Iris and he had agreed to dissolve their marriage when it was safe, and Eros, aware of Zephyros's feelings for Apollo, caused him to chase and subdue Khloris and make her his wife. He hadn't realized until many years of serving Eros, how much Eros's resentment had bound his and Apollo's fates. The Hyacinthus debacle … Zephyros squeezes his eyes shut tight. He doesn't want to revisit the torments of the past.

A voice rises from behind him.

"Well, you certainly are taking your sweet time in arriving."

Zephyros looks up as Dionysus approaches from behind a nearby tree. He doesn't appear as he had only yesterday when they had talked, plumper, older. Instead, Dionysus looks as he had in the old days, before Zeus had sentenced him to Camp Half-Blood. He's young, as if not quite finished growing, and with his narrow waist and rounded hips he appears equal measures masculine and feminine. His hair falls to his shoulders in loose black ringlets, and with his violet eyes dancing with amusement, it's difficult for Zephyros to find his voice.

Instead, Zephyros stares at his own feet, only realizing he is now visible. So much has changed in a single day that it doesn't surprise him to find it hard to speak.

Dionysus takes a seat beside him, the fragrance of grapes perfuming the air.

"You look remarkable," Zephyros finally manages, meeting his eyes again. "It seems the return to Olympus has lived up to your expectations."

Dionysus blows out a long breath. "You would think it had," he says. "Unfortunately it's only surface deep. I've been waiting for you, ever since Anteros left. I need to return to Camp Half-Blood, but I need to do it discreetly."

Zephyros cocks his head, not sure he's hearing correctly. "I'm not sure why you would need me for that."

Dionysus's lips turn up at the corners, a teasing smirk. "I don't. But you _did_ take the time to try to talk some reason into me, and I didn't want to listen. It seems only fair I should warn you about what to expect around here." He falls silent for a few moments, watching as several leaves fall from the poplar overhead and chase each other in the wind currents before landing on the grass. "Apparently the old prophecy has finally addled father's brain."

Zephryos lifts an eyebrow. "Which one?"

Dionysus grunts, sounding more like his surly older self again. "The one he heard from Metis, before he swallowed her. The one where she would bear him a son who would be destined to replace him."

"So …" Zephyros starts. "She's still rattling around inside him? I thought … Well, didn't Athena explain that in order to birth her, Metis transformed herself into pure thought?"

Dionysus nods slowly, heavily. "Yes. It seems father has realized that by swallowing her, they have become one entity. Ganymede told me the idea has consumed him. He'd been ranting that the fact some long dead mortal philosophers had referred to him as Metieta proved it. And now he's convinced that any of his godly sons could be the one the prophecy refers to, that as one person, any of his sons would also be one of hers. So this is why we're all being put through our paces. He doesn't know when Metis and he became one, so all are under scrutiny, but …" Dionysus looks into Zephyros's eyes with more focus and sincerity than Zephyros thinks he's ever shown before. "I know madness when I see it, Zephyr. It is my specialty after all. And …"

He doesn't finish his statement, but he doesn't really need to. Zephyros gets it. With the king of the gods suffering from extreme paranoia, working as the messenger of Olympus will be an unpleasant task at the very least.

"I see," Zephyros says. "Thanks for the heads up." Dionysus climbs to his feet and adjusts his robes when another question rises in Zephyros's mind. "What did he do to you?" He hopes Dionysus will not take offense. "To put you in your place?"

Dionysus closes his eyes, frowning. He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he seems to be enjoying the warm breeze that Zephyros carries wherever he goes. Dionysus looks at Zephyros again, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He had Boreas carry Ariadne to … He had her cast into Tartarus."

Before Zephyros can respond, Dionysus vanishes in a purple mist, and the condolences die on his tongue. If Zeus is so crazed as to chuck his son's spouse into Tartarus in order to control him, then Zephyros is himself walking a fine line. Keeping his marriage to Apollo a secret must be a priority.

He climbs to his feet, heavier than normal. Where love had lifted him up, now it bears down on him, a burden he'd never understood before.


	18. Chapter 18

Over the Rainbow

Zephyros

Heavy hearted, Zephyros secures his thoughts, building a mental fence around them. There aren't many gods who can read the minds of other gods, but Zephyros doesn't want to take any chances. He approaches the entrance to the pantheon throne room, then springs back when he reaches the stairs as the doors fly open. He soars upward twenty feet to avoid being hit.

Hera storms out, striding down the stone steps, her blue robes billowing up around her as if her very clothing acts out her anger. Behind her, Zephyros's breath catches. Olive skin, long dark hair framing her face, her clothing tailored for comfort rather than fashion, and reminiscent of the free love movement in the 1960s, Iris follows, her wings out and fluttering like a nervous butterfly. She appears older than she had when they had married, more mature, and Zephyros thinks she's even more beautiful for it. He's never given a second thought about what it would be like to change his visage. Well, rather, he's always tended to follow Apollo's example - even before he was fully aware he was doing it - and Apollo favors embodying eternal youth.

A long moment passes before the goddesses notice his presence as Hera, on the war path, blasts potted plants aside, and cracks the granite walkway like eggshells beneath her feet. Iris follows, whispering reassurances and sending calming energies swirling around Hera, her voice soft and soothing. It seems to have some effect. Hera halts her destruction, standing stock-still, looking out across the grounds and down the slope of the mountain. Iris puts her hands on her hips, shaking her head, and Zephyros can imagine she's rolling her eyes as she had in the old days. She turns as he touches down, spotting him. Her eyes go wide and her smile even wider, laugh lines crinkling her face.

"Zephyr!" She beams, opening her arms to him.

He darts a quick glance at Hera, still immobile, before wafting over and embracing his former wife. They press kisses against each other's cheeks, and Iris hugs around his waist so tightly she lifts him off his feet. She smells wonderful, as always, the scent of honeysuckle and roses clinging to her hair.

"I've missed you," he murmurs, meaning it, and then closes his eyes and smiles into the hug, nuzzling the hinge of her neck.

"Me too," she whispers.

A tutting sounds. Hera, clicking her tongue, signals the end of their reunion, and Iris releases him, heaving a sigh. They turn to meet Hera, side by side, their arms looped togehter at the elbows. It pleases Zephyros, the comfort of Iris's presence, her instant acceptance of him after so many years apart, almost as if they just picked up their friendship where it had left off. He'd never been unhappy in their marriage, though it really had been a marriage of convenience rather than passion, mutually so.

"I never understood why you chose to dissolve your marriage," Hera says. She doesn't sound as bitter or disappointed as she had when they had announced their intention to divorce. But, at the same time, she also seems to have calmed from whatever had her raging moments ago.

Iris chuckles, sending vibrations down Zephyros's arm and side, infecting him with her good nature. "I fear, my lady, that you never will. Shall I help you set the garden path back to rights?"

Hera raises one sharp eyebrow, then looks over the destruction she'd wrought. She glares at Iris. "I'd forgotten how you talk back. Perhaps I wasn't in _my_ right mind when I recalled you from that ridiculous shop of yours."

Iris throws Zephyros a quick wink, though he can tell she's more offended by Hera's insult than she lets on.

Hera massages her temples with her fingers, her eyes tight. "Anyway. I'm not one to interrupt a happy reunion. I think I'll retire for a few hours. See if that helps this tension headache."

"Of course, my Queen," Iris says, and Hera shimmers, vanishing in a silver vapor. "Sorry about that. She still hasn't forgiven me for leaving the first time." She waves her free hand over the broken granite path and potted plants, restoring them, then leads Zephyros into the throne room. It's eerily silent as he takes in the twelve assorted thrones of the Olympian gods.

His eyes linger on the one throne made entirely of gold, and he recalls the many times he'd seen Apollo grace it in the past, how Apollo commanded attention without any effort at all, and looked at once at ease amongst the other gods, despite his youthful countenance.

Iris releases his arm and walks around the hearth at the center of the half circle of thrones, facing him. Her lips purse, her eyes narrowing, though the quivering laugh lines around her mouth and eyes reveal her amusement. "So? Still?"

"What?" Zephyros asks, pretending ignorance. He attempts to control his emotions, to temper his thoughts. Iris is one goddess it's nearly impossible to hide anything from, so having her on his side is a mercy.

She lowers her voice, the embers of the hearthfire glowing momentarily. Likely, Hestia, perking her ears for news.

Zephyros breathes out through his nose. Sharing with Iris out loud is absolutely a bad idea. He rolls his eyes, and then holds out his hands, palms up.

Iris purses her lips smugly as if satisfied with the compromise. As messenger gods, they can share thoughts through touch. She places her hands palm to palm with his and he lifts the barriers to his secrets for her.

An hour later, they sit in Iris's small room, shielded from prying eyes and ears by a rainbow ward. Zephyros sighs and glances out the narrow window through indigo and violet streaks. He should have reported for duty by now, but knows better than to rush Iris when she's puzzling.

Iris stares at him, her warm brown eyes seeing past his physical form, and he senses her restraining herself from passing judgment. "Holy buggering fuck," she says finally, her voice breaking the silence and making him jump. "You really go in for the whole kit and caboodle, don't you?"

Zephyros creases his forehead, shrugging. "It's always been him," he says simply. He doesn't like the look she's giving him, like now that she has learned about his circumstance, something else she's heard suddenly falls into place and she isn't going to tell him what it is. "You see something more, don't you?"

She stands and crosses the room to her dresser, then rummages in one of the drawers instead of answering. Zephyros looks away as she tugs her loose sleeved blouse off and pulls a rainbow tie-dye T-shirt on instead. He looks back at her when she retakes her seat.

"R.O.F.L.?" he asks, reading from her shirt.

She shrugs. "It's a living. I enjoy the quieter life, but if we don't get the shitstorm here under control, I'm going to be a very unhappy woman."

Zephyros nods. While Iris and he had thought-fasted, he'd learned about her new life and of her budding relationship. "Fleecy," he says, not bothering to hide his crooked smile. "Sounds very cute." Iris folds her arms across her chest and gives him her best bitch face.

"You finished?"

"Yeah," he says, rolling his shoulders. "I talked to Dionysus. He gave me some food for thought. What had, uh … the lady of the house so worked up?"

"For one thing, being referred to as 'the lady of the house,'" Iris says coldly. "The others, well, the fact her beloved husband is out of his Olympian head. She finds that incredibly frustrating." She ticks off the points she makes on her fingers. "Being called out for acting in the best interest of all civilization before the assembled gods, even if she wasn't ultimately _blamed_, the shaming and the 'time out' she's been given irks her. The small fact that time is all over the place, and losing traction. Did you notice, coming here? Find yourself dwelling in the past at all? It's happening to everyone. All the past bitterness, grudges, even things that were so minute as a disagreement as to what to have for dinner three thousand years ago; it takes its toll even on the gods after a while."

Zephyros starts. "Wait. I figured you'd know about the time skip, but the past? That's what it was? When I arrived, even me talking to you now …" He glances out the window again, at the sky darkening in the distance. "Is it only on Olympus this is happening?"

Iris lifts her eyebrows and raises her shoulders. He can tell she's frustrated and anxious and desperately trying not to show how much. "As far as I can tell, it's only Olympus … so far. I don't know what to tell you, Zephyr. But considering your new 'connections'; of all the gods, he's the one I'd hedge my bets on. If any god has the power to … somehow … make a change in how things are unfolding, it's Apollo. Zeus singled him out as the one with the power to usurp him when he used him to alter the mortals. He even made him temporarily one of them, not once, but twice. Apollo _has_ the ability to change, the rest of the biggies, do not."

As much as Zephyros already knows this about Apollo, hearing Iris confirm it makes him want to join Hera in her rage. Something has to give.


	19. Chapter 19

Dance With the Devil

Zephyros

With promises to talk again, Iris wishes him well and makes her way to look in on Hera. Zephyros wanders back into the pantheon courtyard, the leaves rustling overhead, the air cooling. The granite paths gleam white in the darkening garden, all the shrubs, trees, and statuary bathed in shadow. He's surprised he hasn't been tracked down by now, though Iris's rainbow wards always had been strong. He really should try to find out where he's supposed to report for duty, to find out how many messages and deliveries are waiting for him. Instead, he drifts over to the poplar he'd stood beneath earlier and fades from view, putting it off.

The severity in Dionysus's voice, his manner, strikes a deeper dread in Zephyros's heart than the idea of Zeus finally cracking. _Zeus,_ he thinks to himself, picturing the young god that used to dance in his warm breezes. _What has become of you? How much has the stress and fear, the bitterness and anger consumed who you once were? How much of that god is left?_

He doubts anybody has an answer to that question. Zeus himself probably doesn't even know.

"For the last time, I cannot help him. He is an Olympian god for Zeus's sake, it's not like he's _dying_."

That voice. Zephyros's ears perk. He tilts his head.

"You!" Another voice spits, a mix between a disbelieving shriek and a hiss of deepest loathing. "You are the _wisdom_ goddess, are you not? You could talk sense into him, reason with him. I don't know, incapacitate him if necessary to buy us all time to decide how to proceed."

Athena, for that is surely the owner of the first voice, snarls back at the other goddess, and Zephyros can finally make out their profiles. They seem to have been trying to conceal themselves, the same as he has done, and their anger breaks their concentration. The second voice is one he knows well, the goddess Aphrodite.

"Don't you dare. Do you recall the last time Zeus was incapacitated? … Oh right … You don't. You were too busy fumbling around with that beef-headed _oaf_ to bother taking a stand. And then when judgment came down on the rest of us, you batted your eyelashes and admired your own reflection."

"You are a cold woman, Athena. Heartless." Aphrodite draws out the 'ss' sound like a snake hissing. "He is your brother. Your father is_torturing_ him. You claim to excel in battle strategy. What would you do to rescue a prisoner of war? Oh, you wouldn't if that meant you might get a boo-boo. Admit it, Athena. Deep down you are a coward!"

Zephyros can't help it. He'd spent so many years defending Aphrodite, aligning his loyalty to her, it's become a reflex. He swoops into the thick of their argument, blowing Athena's shield, Aegis, off her arm when she lifts it to intimidate the mother of his former master. It crashes to the granite pathway with a loud clatter, ringing faintly even after it stills.

Zephyros is aware he's not a match for either goddess. As god of the West Wind, he's generally seen as a pushover, and has identified as a 'minor' god for so long he wears the title with pride. But with Zeus not quite holding onto his sanity, it's probably best to interrupt a war from breaking out between the goddesses of logic and emotion.

He lands a dozen paces away from them before taking form, his hand resting on his sword hilt, though he has no intention of drawing it. The goddesses glare at him, their argument with each other suspended and a temporary truce forming as they face him down as an intruder.

He figures that's better than what might have occurred. He decides to play dumb. Acting as though he isn't a threat, nor capable of becoming one, has kept him out of danger many, many times in the past.

"Hey there," he says, lifting his hand from his sword hilt and waving at them. "Sorry to interrupt, but with the dark … I heard voices. I've been looking for ages and there just doesn't seem to be many people around."

Athena huffs an irritated breath, but Zephyros can see the fight draining from her, the tension leaving her shoulders. Aphrodite on the other hand, is going to be tricky. She's not great about keeping secrets that aren't her own, and she is, other than Iris, the only person aware of his marriage to Apollo.

"What business do _you_ have on Olympus?" Athena demands. Her Aegis shimmers and disappears from the granite path.

He lifts his eyebrows and rubs the back of his neck, pretending embarrassment. "I'm supposed to fill in as messenger for the gods. I got a little sidetracked and now there doesn't seem to be anybody around to show me the ropes."

Aphrodite remains strangely quiet, and Zephyros glances at where she absently fiddles with a fold in her gown as if unaware she's doing it. "Well," she says, then glances at a point beyond the spring. "_I_ don't have any say in the goings on around here. For all the talk of marriage, professions about fidelity, and family blah blah blah, love isn't really welcome here."

She strides across the courtyard, not acknowledging Athena, but giving Zephyros a small wink as she passes, more gliding than the angry stalking she seemed to be going for. He watches her disappear into the shadowy night, his lips twitching. He thinks he can trust her not to reveal him, but more than that, he successfully prevented the fight from escalating.

Athena clears her throat, and Zephyros straightens his posture.

"Come on, Zephyr," she says, as if having to deal with him was a nuisance. "I think you're in the room next to Ganymede. He'll walk you through the assignment when he turns in for the night."

The room that will be Zephyros's home for the duration of his appointment is about the size of a closet. It feels like a cage. The bed takes up more than a quarter of the space, a single-sized mattress on a simple wooden frame, wedged between two narrow, yellow walls, and pressed against the wall opposite the door. A thick blue curtain wafts against the wall to his right and when he pulls it back, there are bars on the window. He returns his wings to their tattoo form, eyes narrowed, and waves his hand over the bars. They dissolve into mist to his relief, and after tearing the curtain down and allowing the sweet smelling air to dispel the stale air, he breathes easier.

The state of Olympus is utter madness. He's expected to do the job of Hermes, and yet a closet is considered sufficient quarters? He is well on to being a full day late reporting to Zeus, and yet there's no rush to catch up on outside communications? Hades sake, even the pantheon courtyard has been almost empty of other gods.

It's been years since he'd visited Olympus, around seventy or so, he thinks as he rubs his temples. Then, the palace, the courtyard, the streets and markets had bustled with activity. Nymphs, demigods, gods, godlings of all types populated the mountain, making it a regular center of commerce. And now, nothing makes sense and he worries the atmosphere is already getting to him.

He sits on the bed, cross-legged, his back propped against the back wall, his strangest conversation yet spinning through his mind. Athena had escorted him to Zeus's palace, through long corridors with high domed ceilings, every step echoing off the stone masonry, and reminding him of the corridors in Hades's palace. But even that dark structure, tucked away in the land of the dead, was more full of life than this place.

Perhaps Zeus had scared all the other gods off?

He'd followed Athena to a temple at the far side of the palace and then up a long series of staircases. Apparently Ganymede lives squirrelled away where he won't irritate Hera. That is what Athena had said when he'd asked why they were climbing so high. But barred windows? And this room. He takes a closer look at the curtain rod over the window, realizing at last it isn't a curtain rod at all, but a rod for clothing hangers. If Ganymede is treated as though he's the dirty laundry in Zeus's closet, then Zephyros is being shown that _he_ is worth even less, shoved into the closet's closet.

Still, Zephyros finds it hard to work up much agitation. He's used to a life of service, used to being secreted away, denied the pleasures other gods enjoy and expected to be grateful for what he _is_ granted. He wonders what Apollo would say about these conditions. Apollo himself had been knocked down a few tiers on the ladder of worthiness. In his present state he'd probably advise Zephyros to just get through the appointment, to enjoy his freedom to fly and stretch his wings on deliveries, and then promise that things will be better when his term of service is finished. But when that will be hasn't been established. _Nothing_ has been established.

Athena's words too. He's still not sure he can wrap his mind around them. When they'd reached the landing before the final leg of staircases, she'd held out her arm to stop him from continuing.

"Wait," she'd said. He'd stopped and waited, watching her stormy grey eyes – the same color as Zeus possessed – and they looked fearful. "I noticed your strategy. In the courtyard. Not at first, but as we climbed the stairs just now it became clear. It was efficient, effective. Wise even. I've seen you in recent years, more frequently than I expected to."

Zephyros shrugged. "I carry your demigod children to their mortal parents. Hera insists it be my duty as the gentlest wind. I don't mind."

"No, it's more than that." Athena worried her lower lip as if hesitating whether to risk trusting him with some dark secret. "In Nevada, the place where time stands still. You used to frequent it."

Zephyros's cheeks had flushed hot, but he hadn't denied it. "Well, as a servant of Eros … I was never allowed time to …" he hesitated "…to unwind? To connect? The Lotus Casino does need occasional replenishing and Eros never minded me volunteering for the job."

"You liked it there." Athena didn't phrase it as a question.

Zephyros hadn't caught any judgment or even surprise from her at the idea. But in truth, most gods _would_ judge him. For gods, a place where time stands still is like being put out to pasture. It's a place some gods go to fade, to leave the mortal world without ever realizing they had been forgotten. An easy death. A painless one.

"I'm not suicidal," Zephyros had told her. He wanted to make that point perfectly clear. Athena didn't even raise her eyebrows. She'd simply nodded for him to continue. He sighed. "It's just that, not being allowed the freedom to find love, to live according to my own whims, sort of set me on the fringes even more than my status as a minor god. The residents of the casino … I could relate to them, you know? Like, better than I could with my own brethren." He paused a moment, her eyes still watching him closely, almost like they belonged to a predator. "I'm not ashamed. I've never questioned my punishment. It was deserved. I'd committed a horrible crime, and I was justly punished for it. The small pleasures I indulge in – taking some time away, never more than a few hours inside, a week outside, tops – it didn't hurt anybody. Actually, it helped me to keep my sanity, to recharge my batteries I guess they'd say today."

Athena nodded again. "I understand." Then she'd turned and led him up the final staircase, the conversation finished. "Ganymede should be back eventually. He'll knock on your door." And that had been it.

Zephyros taps his fingers restlessly on his knees. He could probably do with another few hours in the Lotus Casino right now, but if things on Olympus do pick up and it turns out he'll be playing catch up with a mountain of correspondence, it's not very likely.

Bright blue eyes flash across his memory, sun-bleached blond hair, a youthful giggle. Demigod children. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, his heart aching. When he sees Apollo again, they need to have a serious talk about what they both consider vital. Zephyros trusts Apollo does see far enough ahead to make intelligent decisions, but he sometimes doesn't see near enough to the present to notice what he loses by looking so far ahead. All the time, the potential, lost.

A loud thump sounds as something hits the wall opposite the window, and Zephyros doesn't want to wait any longer, especially cooped up like a bird in a cage. The very idea that image inspires makes his tattooed feathers ruffle, and then he frowns at how apt the insult actually is. Must he temper his powers according to another god's instruction? He tells himself that he isn't yet employed as a messenger to Zeus, not having received any details or formal greeting.

If the thump hitting the wall was Ganymede returning for the night, Zephyros decides not to wait for a knock on the door and risk the young wine steward falling asleep first, he'll go to meet him on his own terms. Zephyros stands, then turns sideways so he can stretch his wings before transforming into wind.

It's easy, breezing out the open window, building up stamina and resolve with a few short bursts of free flying. He twists. The tower windows to the next room are narrow and barred, but moving through them as a gentle breeze, wafting the gossamer curtains without fanfare is the simplest thing ever. Zephyr prepares to return to his physical body, but catches himself in the nick of time.

Spread over a long dining table in the center of the room is a true feast for the eyes. Ganymede, entirely naked, his arms lifted over his head, his thick brown hair tousled and grown out, framing his face, cushioning his head, and making the pinkness of his cheeks, the redness of his lips that much more tempting.

Zephyros follows his baby fine skin down from his raised chin, along his neck, his bobbing Adam's apple – flushed skin – and further down his chest to his perfectly pebbled nipples, darker red, and shining with either sweat, or oil, or saliva. Zephyros couldn't pull his gaze away from the delight before him if it would save his life.

Further down Ganymede's tight little stomach, his abs flexing with his shuddering breaths, his legs spread apart at the thighs, and Zeus – not the aged king of the gods, wise and discerning with his silver streaked hair and storm-colored beard, but as he once was, his youth restored – his eyes closed in pleasure as he coaxes Ganymede open with his tongue. His beardless face nuzzles as deep between Ganymede's perfect ass cheeks as it can go, his nose surfacing every once and a while to breathe in air and Ganymede's delicious musk. The boy, for he is too perfect to be called a man, is what Zephyros would describe as 'sex on legs'.

But seeing Zeus young again makes Zephryos's heart clench, his soul ache. He drifts slowly, careful to not rustle the curtains or knock over any light trinkets, and settles a short distance from Zeus, studying him.

Zeus's hair is thick and black, unruly and yet perfectly so, his eyebrows dark and full. The deep creases in his forehead that had become a testament to Zeus's wizened, kingly persona don't touch him in this form. Instead, his entire focus is on the young man spread out before him, and as he hums his contentment, his nose pressed into the hinge of Ganymede's thigh, his mouth fastened, Zephyros can feel the vibrations himself, can see the effect they have on Ganymede.

Zephyros is used to watching. He's used to upholding his vow to a master, to remaining chaste for the duration of service, which had been, put simply: forever. And even though he is finally free, a phantom weight, the memory of the shackles of his vow, weighs on him still. While Eros's terms were cruel, that he must serve the god of love and never partake in the pleasures of the same, he never forbade Zephryos from watching. Zephyros has mused a lot over the centuries whether his master actually got off on seeing Zephyros so tormented.

He shakes, not wanting the doubts, the truth, to weigh on him right now. Not when he must remain unseen. Fortunately, Ganymede saves him from his own thoughts, crying out.

"Oh! My Lord. Master!"

Zephyros's attention is caught at the first word, and tethered completely by the last. He gazes down at the spectacular beauty before him, the young man so dedicated to his godly patron that he wears stars in his eyes. His gut churns with pity for the place Ganymede has been set on Olympus. Forever servile, forever barred from the rest of the world, forever under Zeus's every whim, and then, Zeus surprises him.

The king of the gods rises slowly from between Ganymede's spread thighs, pressing soft kisses to the tender skin as he goes, and then meeting Ganymede's desperate gaze. "Please, love," he says, his voice lacking its usual thunder and power, instead sounding almost human, almost fragile. "Not here. Do not use that terrible word for me when we are together."

Ganymede, his eyes still locked fast with Zeus's, pushes himself up on his arms, and Zeus leans in closer, clasping Ganymede's strong young back and pulling him into an embrace. Ganymede nuzzles Zeus's chest with one cheek, his flush less pronounced, and trails his fingers up and down Zeus's sides making Zeus's knees quake.

"Zeus," Ganymede whispers, drawing back, his voice more breath than vibration. "You're back."

Zephyros's mind spins. His dissipated form has always brought him clarity of thought before, the ability to see a bigger picture, but now as thoughts occur and he wants to examine them, to make sense of Zeus's apparent return to his his former charming self, for watching him drink kisses from Ganymede's lips, and then dissolving into lovers' giggles does _not_ fit with reality. Each time Zephyros tries to catch and examine an idea as it occurs, it slips away as if blown by one of his more unruly brother winds.

Wrapping his arms around Ganymede's firm young body, Zeus picks him up and carries him to the bed. _King-sized,_ Zephyros thinks, the bitter taste of envy tainting his wonderment. He shakes himself again, trying to buck the unwelcome emotion, but finds himself once more distracted. A scent, an unfamiliar one, like poison, like venom, seeps into the room, and worse, Zephyros feels it trying to mingle with his form. He darts anxious glances all around him, his heart racing, and finds nothing out of the ordinary. And then, just as quickly as it rose, the scent diffuses, becoming faint.

As his heartrate slows again, Zephyros clings to his thoughts, swaying each portion of his windy body, making sure it is all there, and that it is only himself he feels. His eyes fix on the barred windows, every instinct screaming at him to flee, to escape, but deserting his post has never been in Zephyros's nature. He turns back to check that Zeus and Ganymede are unharmed by whatever the toxic air had borne, and his breath catches.

Watching them, Ganymede's hair shining with health, his face glowing from within and spreading outward as if wearing a halo. And Zeus, his muscles flexing, tensing, relaxing, thrusting his hips and coaxing the sweetest sounds from Ganymede's throat. Zephyros realizes how wrong it is that he witness such a sight. He forces himself to turn away, to focus instead on the designs carved into the walls. If one of his brothers, or his former master, or Zeus himself had been watching him and Apollo consummate their marriage, he'd feel violated. They'd had sex in public, risking being caught many times, but the last coupling had been for them alone. It seems the same between Zeus and Ganymede right now and Zephyros chastises himself for being so blind.

The details of the engraved wall are an easy distraction, a mass of images that, until you start looking at them, don't appear to be more than a series of scribbles. He finds goblets, and pitchers, a youth pouring nectar onto a plate for a seated king, and below that a billow of scattered feathers leading to an eagle. He glances back at the bed where the lovers cling to each other, face to face, their breaths mingling, their eyes lost in each other and warmth spreads throughout his consciousness, tingling on the tips of what would be his fingers, above him trembling where he would make his wings. He flushes, absorbing the pleasure of their climax like a sponge, and can't find it in himself to feel guilt. He's too far gone, overdosed on a positive charge.

He turns away again, giving them privacy, feeling sluggish and lazy, lust drunk. It's a comfortable state. He wonders idly if Ganymede had carved the images into the walls himself. They seem to tell his story. A quick glance over parts of three walls he can see, they are all engraved. How much time alone must Ganymede have spent to make them? How many hours had he been locked away in here by himself, dwelling on his abduction from the mortal world?

The bars in the window appear thicker than before, darker, more cruel. Over the centuries Zephyros himself had sheltered Ganymede several times, listening to his gossip of the latest news on Olympus, discussing his new hobby as an occasional announcer on Hephaestus radio, and generally seeming to be content with his life as a plaything. It was only when Hera flew into a rage that Zeus let him leave Olympus. And the rest of the time, Zephyros frowns. The rest of the time keeps him locked away? How could such blatant _abuse_ be remotely mistaken for love? His stomach sours as the repressed memories of how he had himself abducted Chloris from Elysium struggle to the forefront of his mind.

_That had been Eros's influence,_ he reminds himself, but it doesn't make him feel any better about it. Could it be Eros that is causing the changes in Zeus? Dionysus had inferred Zeus was mad, but having felt the madness of love from Eros's sting firsthand, Zephyros is still unsure. Zeus seems to be sane now, but also not at all the same personality he presents as the King of the gods.

Zephyros perks his ears at the sound of rustling sheets. Perhaps they will fall asleep for the night and when they do, he'll be able to slip through window bars and back into his own room. They start talking, and Zephyros retreats inside his own mind so as not to listen in, his eyes wandering again over the engraved images on the walls without direction until one draws his full focus.

In the very corner, tucked away so as to be hard to spot, there is a series of nightmarish faces. He draws closer, his heart picking up in rhythm as he takes them in one at a time. They all seem to resemble each other, yet each expression is more grotesque than the one before it, and despite his best intentions, Zephyros picks up Zeus and Ganymede's conversation. Their voices sound clearer than they ought to at such a distance, as if they want to be heard.

"Forgive me if I misunderstood, _my lord_," Ganymede's tone is cold, almost icy.

"How can I explain myself to such a simpleton?" The thunder and barely restrained anger Zeus is famous for is back in his voice. Deeper, more gravelly than it had been. "It isn't so easy a task and I will not be made to be a fool. That you would even suggest such a thing … Do I even know you at all?"

"In-timate-ly," Ganymede replies drily, drawing out the word as if to hammer it home. "I am exhausted. May I be _allowed_ to sleep, _sir_?" The hurt in Ganymede's voice, the disappointment, the sorrow, touches a raw nerve deep in the core of Zephyros's being. He can't retreat from it, not without severing a piece of his own heart. But he also cannot challenge Zeus. He turns to watch them.

Zeus, dressed once more in his robes, his body restored to his older visage, his hair streaked grey and silver, his beard grey and white, and his eyes cold as steel, and lit with the anger of a brewing storm.

Ganymede hasn't bothered to dress or to cover himself. He sits with his back upright against the headboard, and with the withering glare he throws at Zeus, his fingers twitching at his sides, feet crossed at the ankles, Zephyros reads his temptation to call Zeus out on his shit. Perhaps it is because Ganymede was born a mortal, or perhaps because though he was granted immortality and the equivalent of godhood – counting him worthy as the beloved of Zeus, but not given any dominion of his own – Zephyros can read his thoughts. They buzz in Zephyros's mind as if by radio transmission.

_If you would drop your claim to power, you could be yourself._

_Zeus, I long for you, and yet all of your promises have been empty._

_I live in fear, never knowing which face you will wear when you come to my bed._

_I can't leave, for you will never allow it._

_It hasn't ever gotten better, if anything, time makes you worse, and I am so very weary, worn so thin._

_I do not doubt that I could push too far and you would destroy me in your passion. But I know that afterwards you would destroy yourself and the world along with you, only increasing the strife you leave behind, far worse than the last time._

_You are real, and pure, and kind, and funny, and so freaking gay for me that I can't resist loving you. But this power - it destroys everything it touches and it touches us both._

Zephyros's throat constricts. There is too much anguish in Ganymede's mind, too many variables he somehow takes into account whenever Zeus is near him. Such a heavier shackle than Zephyros could ever bear up under. And yet he retains his good nature and his hope. An impossible hope, but it has sustained him for more than three eons.

Zeus doesn't seem to be aware of the messages Ganymede longs for him to pick up. Instead, he swells with the fury of the sky, each passing moment of silence confusing him, driving his anger to greater heights.

The scent of ozone fills the room and Ganymede closes his eyes, sighing. He mumbles under his breath, but unfortunately clearly enough that Zeus does pick it up. "Go ahead and kill me. Will that make you happy?"

The sky outside erupts with thunder from multiple sources, and through the bars on the window Zephyros watches forked bolts of lightning split the night in two, the streak still visible long seconds after it strikes, and Ganymede does not open his eyes. He doesn't react at all, not a single muscle twitching.

Zephyros is tempted to call for Apollo. He doesn't doubt Apollo's ability to answer in an instant, but how much more would that stir up Zeus's wrath? What the hell is causing it even? It seems to come from within Zeus himself – the altered state of Olympus even – the skin crawling sensation of toxic air that had tried to mix with Zephyros's form not more than an hour ago. Dionysus had diagnosed insanity, and with the lack of other gods on Olympus – where there had once been an endless milling of them – Zephyros's suspects he is not far off the mark.

The way Aphrodite had pleaded with Athena, had begged her to find a way to incapacitate Zeus until a solution could be found suddenly seems to Zephyros, like an ideal way to proceed, but Athena had cut it down immediately. Zephyros suspects that if incapacitation was possible, Athena would have already done it. He follows Ganymede's example and closes his eyes, quieting his mind. Shortly after, the walls shake with the force of a heavy slamming door, a powerful ward settling on the lock.

It seems that for now, he and Ganymede won't be going anywhere.


	20. Chapter 20

Regrets Collect Like Old Friends

Nico

Nico and Will dress in the early light of morning, the quiet of sleep still heavy in the room, though with sound of his racing heart loud in his own ears, Nico thrums with nervous anticipation. He fastens his chain belt around his waist, checking that his sword is safely fixed in its Stygian iron ring form, and then strides to the door. It creaks as he pushes it open, and he looks out at the dew-bright grass of the greens ringed by the camp cabins. The sun has only started to rise, and shadows cast by the forest and camp structures stretch across the grounds like dark fingers in a nightmare.

He reaches out with his senses, trying to connect, to access the security of the darkness that had once sheltered him. It's beyond frustrating to come up short, to feel so suddenly weak. Disappointment in himself, anger, rises inside his body from his very bones. He should never have allowed himself to rely on his powers so much. He wonders if this is how an addict feels going without their their sustaining vice: off-balance, like being blinded in only one eye and facing a task requiring two.

At the sound of rustling behind him, he looks over his shoulder at Will. The angry emotions abate somewhat as Nico watches him patting down his pockets, then searching under Nico's pillows, and looking lost and confused.

"What'd you lose?" Nico asks, his back to the open door. He flattens his palms against the wood, using what he _can_ touch to steady himself, to keep him from freaking out. The idea of petitioning for a quest to go to Hades without his Underworld magic makes his skin crawl, his instincts screaming at him to hide.

"My doctor's bag." Will says, his voice infusing Nico with a sense of calm; Will is familiar; With him, Nico is safe. "We had it last night."

Nico's lips twitch at the memory; a pleasant tingle chases the anxiety out of his nerves.

"Foot of the bed," he says, smirking at the sigh of relief Will gives when he finds it.

Will glances up at him, the faraway look still in full force, like he's having trouble focusing. Nico tries not to notice. He doesn't want to think about Will losing _his_ grip on reality when Nico's confidence in himself is already stretched thin.

"Thanks," Will says, and presses a soft kiss to Nico's cheek as he passes, Nico holding the door open for him.

Nico follows Will past the Big House and the volleyball court, not sure where they are headed.

"Doesn't your dad stay in the Big House?" he asks as they reach Half-Blood Hill and start to climb.

"Sometimes," Will says. He glances sideways at Nico, his forehead creased. "Oh right." He faces forward again and keeps climbing, Nico at his side. "I forgot about the … memory lapse …"

Nico wants to interrupt, to correct him. _It isn't my memory that has lapsed. I'm one of the only people who has noticed time skipping ahead two years._ He holds his tongue and continues to climb while Will finishes explaining.

"Since Rachel is off at college out west, he mostly stays in her cave. Says it's more comfortable, more 'his style' than the Big House. That, and he was offended to have to share a room with Dionysus, even if they weren't in it at the same time."

Absently, Nico wonders how Rachel feels about Apollo taking over her cave. He probably didn't think it was necessary to tell her. Still, as far as Olympian gods go, Nico appreciates the few conversations they have had. It wasn't until Apollo explained that Nico wasn't a mistake, that he was finally able to accept himself and let go of the fear that had been with him since the 1930s.

As they approach the cave entrance, Nico ponders his interactions with Apollo from yesterday, a quiet unease settling inside his gut. His reluctance to talk about the time skip, the way he shut down Aphrodite's attempt to provoke him into action. How much has Apollo's power been reduced? How much of it was actually Zeus's punishment and how much might be Apollo's own fear?

"Dad?" Will calls, and Nico stops not quite short enough, bumping into Will's butt and almost knocking him down.

Will grins as he steadies himself, his hands on Nico's waist, amusement in his eyes. It makes Nico's cheeks burn, the way Will looks at him, before turning back to the cave entrance and calling out again. Nico wonders if he's becoming as dependant on Will as he was on his own powers. He seriously hopes not and tries not to think about how it would feel if Will was ripped from his life like his powers were.

Will takes Nico's hand, and then pushes the curtain to the side and pulls Nico inside after him. They step into a roomy cavern, about the size of the Arts and Crafts cabin, lit up with a rosy glow that makes the place feel warm and cozy.

Nico gets the sense that he's been inside the cave before, that it used to smell like oil paint and incense, but looking around it now – the leather furniture, the stereo equipment, and enormous flat screen television, the gaming systems, and to the left, about a half dozen electric guitars, a drum set, a shelving unit stuffed with musical instruments, half of which Nico can't even name – it seems Apollo has made himself at home. There are still glimpses of Rachel's style: a truly unusual table lamp, a lopsided cuckoo clock and a few canvases stacked against the back wall, but they are overshadowed with what appear to be genuine antique treasures: masks, statuettes of various gods and nymphs in addition to the modern equipment.

Apollo sits on the couch, his back facing them, and they seem to be interrupting a discussion he's having with Pythia, bound to Will's old staff. Most of the light in the room seems to be coming from him.

"I understand that, but it doesn't make it any more pleasant to bear," he says to the snake, then turns. He raises his hand and gestures for them to sit beside him on the couch.

"You have borne many curses in your time and still you are able to smile," Pythia hisses. She darts her tongue at his nose almost playfully and as Nico takes a seat beside Will on the couch, Apollo does offer a small smile.

"What brings you two in here so early?" Apollo asks, his smile growing, though not meeting his eyes. "Breakfast won't even be served for another three hours."

The smile feels forced, and sends Nico's mind back to how frustrating it had been to get a straight word out of Apollo the last time they had gone to him to petition a quest. Nico has to tamp down his urge to call him out. Without his powers, his ability to retreat quickly, it would be stupid to talk back to a god.

Will doesn't have the same restraint, but he does have experience in coaxing reluctant people to open up.

"You almost vaporized us yesterday," Will says, not hiding his annoyance. "I understand that you are stressed out, but can you drop the casual act?" After a short pause, he adds: "Please?"

Apollo's smile slips, his eyebrows furrowing, but Pythia speaks up before he has a chance to answer. "Your father has gained and lost a lot this past night, Will. He foresees more of the same in the coming days."

Will breathes out loudly, and Nico can almost hear him mentally screaming. It's not like life has been super easy for them either. He lowers his voice, and amazingly sounds both patient and calm.

"Look, let's just talk it out. We'll feel better, all of us. What do you say?"

The way Will and Apollo meet each other's eyes, sitting side by side in reverse style of each other, reminds Nico of the time his mother had taken him to a theatre performance, and two actors were playing as if they were a single person and his reflection. He shakes himself, both wanting to push the ancient memory aside so he can focus, and wanting to hold onto it, to treasure remembering the time when his mother was alive.

Apollo's forehead softens, his lips turning down. He glances at Pythia as she nods at him before turning to face Will again. "Okay." The concession seems to drain him of his anger, even muting his godly power. The brightness that radiates from him pretty much always seems to dim as well, until they're just three guys and a snake gearing up to talk about their problems.

The air around them feels surreal, Nico thinks, almost like a dream. Will squeezes his knee, his eyes still on Apollo, waiting.

"Okay. We can talk. I cannot promise to answer all of your questions, but I will do my best … to listen, to understand."

Will reaches for the staff with Pythia wrapped around it, and Apollo passes it to him, an expression of sadness flashing so fast across his eyes, Nico almost wonders if he imagined it.

"Nico and I have had a lot of losses the past few days too, Dad. I learned that my boyfriend doesn't recall most of the last two years we've been together. I couldn't save my best friend and I still don't understand what has happened to her. I feel like _I'm_ moving forward in life and the future is right within my reach, but everything I love is still in the past and if I'm not careful, I'll lose my hold on it."

Will hands the staff to Nico as he falls silent. The truth of the losses he'd just described hanging over them all, not pushed away or addressed, just there where they can all see them.

Nico grips the staff tightly. He knows it's his turn to speak, to put his own fears out for the group to share, like the camp bonding exercises he normally avoids like the plague. Only the person holding the stick can speak.

"Well," Pythia hums. If she had eyebrows, she'd be raising them. "What do you have to share, child of Hades?"

The epithet grates on Nico's nerves, reminding him of a whole other string of losses, like her words just opened a can of worms. He clears his throat and focuses on the snake, trying to pretend the others aren't there. It's the only way he knows how to get his words out. It's easier to talk to ghosts, or those who he's not afraid of judging him. Sharing with the people he cares about is still hard.

"I – I don't like to talk about this stuff. It's like, it takes up all of my thoughts already and the rest of the time, when I'm with other people …" He takes a deep breath. As he breathes out, the thoughts seem to unwind, becoming easier to access. Not what he expected. "Lately, when I'm with Will or the others … I finally have friends. I'm afraid that if I bring up all the dark stuff – my fears, my sadness – I'll scare them away and then I'll lose that too."

Will squeezes his knee again, and then scoots back, readjusting his position on the couch to be more open to Nico. He slips his hand up to Nico's thigh and lets it rest there.

Nico still doesn't look at him, but the comfort feels good. "I'm a child out of time already," he says, the words coming easier the more he talks. "I lost 70 years of my life, more, if you take into account that my dad had my memories of the years before the Lotus Casino wiped. And realizing my mom was gone and how she died … Anyway, skipping to after the war: I was finally in a place where I had a fresh start, where I was comfortable and didn't feel in the way. I thought I'd have a chance to slowly heal the past, you know? Like work through my lost memories and stuff. But then I woke up the day before yesterday, and it was two years later. It was the Lotus Casino all over again and _nobody_ noticed. I mean, I heard Zephyros talking about it with Mr. D, so I knew I wasn't totally losing my mind, but then my powers got stripped and I realized that Will and I were at different places with our … relationship. It's all so messed up in my head. I'm trying to catch up and make sense of everything, but the more I learn, the scarier it gets and … I have to help my father. He's doing something about it. He's the _only_ god I see actually trying to fix things."

Apollo's breath hitches and Nico finally looks away from Pythia. He doesn't care if the truth hurts to hear. Now that he has a chance to say what he thinks and Apollo is listening, he will. Addressing Apollo this time, Nico lays it out.

"Hades has always gotten the shaft. He might not be the nicest god. He has a different nature, but that doesn't mean it's bad or any worse than the rest of you Olympians. He got stuck with the Underworld, and has the responsibility to oversee more human souls at a time than any other god. And he rose up to the challenge. He had the Underworld carefully structured and freaking organized. He had safeguards in place to keep the dead from interfering with the world above and he never got recognized for it. Instead, he wasn't even allowed on Olympus except for winter Solstice. But despite all of that, and there was a lot more I'm not even going into right now, he listened to reason. He saw the big picture, and he came to aid Olympus when the Titans attacked. But even after that, he wasn't respected. He wasn't welcome. Zeus and Hera, practically the whole lot of you, let him slink back into the shadows and forgot about him until Hermes and Asclepius needed a place to hide. Hades could've told them to take a hike, but he didn't. He saw the big picture again, and even if Tartarus does rise and brings _the pit_ to the upper world, if Hades wanted out of his job, if he wanted to just walk away, Tartarus would leave him alone. But even after Zeus condemned him along with Hermes, Hades is directing all his forces into slowing Tartarus's progress. _He's_ doing something about it, while you cry about all the horrible things that your father did to you. You use them as an excuse to not do anything. It's frustrating! I can't even tell you how many times I've heard people say, gods, goddesses, ghosts even, that they'd rally to your side if you rose up. But you won't."

Apollo closes his eyes, like a man condemned. Like a sacrifice accepting they're about to have their head cut off. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and Nico's heart stutters. He doesn't want Apollo to take his criticism and internalize it, to make whatever is holding him back worse. He wants to spur him into action, to light a fire underneath him.

"Look. I don't mean to make whatever is going on with you worse. I don't _want_ to see you broken. Even when you were dying of that cancer, you helped heal me. All it took was a few words, some kindness. I don't know the details of what Zeus did to you. I can't pretend to understand your pain, but you are a god and you have more power than the rest of us. Even out in the mortal world of today people know your name. They know you. Zeus doesn't have nearly the same support that you do."

Nico looks at Will when he squeezes Nico's thigh, at his small smile, the tilt of his head. Nico hands him the staff.

"He's right," Will says, turning back to Apollo. "The mortals still celebrate you. The Apollo Theatre is famous; the space program that took mortals to the moon was named for you; there's even beaches, hotels, sporting goods, all sorts of companies that promote your name. You've got human numbers to back you up." Apollo meets Will's eyes at last. He looks smaller, more human than usual, but his inner brightness starts up again, haloing him in a gentle glow. "Nico and I can listen, we can offer compassion for whatever is bothering you, but only if you tell us what it is."


	21. Chapter 21

It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn

Nico

Will offers the staff to Apollo. Apollo waves his hand and turns it into a ukulele before taking it from Will. He scoots to the edge of the couch cushion and begins to strum. It's a song Nico has never heard before, sounding both full of joy and sadness at the same time.

Will apparently recognizes it at once and clasps his hand in Nico's, threading their fingers together. Apollo doesn't sing. He plays the melody all the way through and then settles back against the cushions, making himself comfortable before beginning again. He talks to them as he plays, the music seeming to amplify his words, not in sound, but in how Nico perceives them.

"I never told you before, either of you, about how gods and mortals differ. I'm not sure what they teach about that here at camp. Anyway, gods don't have dreams like mortals; we use dreams to communicate; to find out what's going on in the world, you know? The only exception really is when we're close to dying, when our power reaches a point so low it's almost impossible to come back from. We also don't have souls. Like how Pan died recently …" He strums his ukulele, falling quiet for a moment.

Nico remembers Pan's death. He was there. "They don't go anywhere as a personality like mortals do," Nico says, a little surprised at himself for speaking, but when Apollo nods his head as if he's interested in what Nico has to say, he goes on. "They fade and their spirit gets dispersed throughout their descendants and those who are pledged to them. It's not like a mortal death, but … yeah."

He falls silent again, curious why Apollo wants to talk about death right now. As Will and he had just argued, of all the Olympian gods, Apollo is the most still revered in the mortal world, the most alive. Apollo picks up talking after a short lull, the music filling the pause and sort of setting a pace for their conversation that is neither rushed nor awkward.

"That's right. That's part of why having demigod children is so important to us; even the goddesses who choose to remain maidens cultivate a following. They adopt heroes and mortals as they see fit. The past couple of years have been rough for all of us. I can't really talk about what's going on with my father. I'm not 100% certain what is happening with him for one, and also, I foresee you two petitioning to continue your quest, to see the last prophecy fulfilled. If I tell you more than I should … It would be bad for everyone. See, when a god overthrows another, when a power structure falls and gets replaced, it sets off an imbalance in the natural order, one that has to be counterbalanced. One way or another the Fates will make sure it gets balanced out. The biggest point I want to make to you guys, the one I've been trying to make with my brethren, is that I don't _want_ to take over Olympus. I'm not cut out for it. I've looked ahead and that path only leads to destruction, more than I can bear." He shakes his head, his face a picture of misery.

The way the music enhances Apollo's voice, Nico can almost make out images of the natural world lashing back on itself, breaking and cracking; the sun heating the Earth to a boiling point, a mass of molten lava. He shudders. Will moves his hand out of Nico's and they wipe their palms on their jeans. Nico guesses that Will saw the same thing. Apollo draws their attention back to himself again.

"Yeah. So that's the thing. I'm not doing _nothing_ so to speak. It's true I'm not actively fighting back like your dad. And I've gotta give my uncle credit. I never thought I'd see him backing Olympus. The best I can do is give you guys my blessing." Apollo stops talking for a second, his fingers missing a chord as he makes a choked sound, then covers it with a forced chuckle. "It's gonna be hard for you, kiddos. And I'd give anything to be able to come along and help you out, but without Zeus backing me, that would be suicide. I, uh … I'm already straddling that line with Zeus. I made a rash decision last night …" He smiles impishly, a genuine smile, his eyes sparkling with what Nico thinks is happiness. "It could get me into some real hot water. Already I've received some sort of curse for it, but I wouldn't take it back if I could. So don't count me out of the running as far as doing something to fight back. Alright?"

Nico has to admit he's curious about what sort of behind the scenes action Apollo is up to. Will tenses, his hands clenching into fists.

"Do you have any advice for us, that won't get you in trouble? Something that might give us a chance at succeeding?"

Apollo starts his song over from the top, this time humming along with the opening refrain. Then he sighs. "The only things that come to mind are my own tormented memories. Often when looking toward the future, the answer can be found in the past. Life unfolds cyclically, you know."

Will clears his throat. He's getting annoyed. Nico can read it in his body language, in how tightly he holds himself, the sharpness of his breathing. "Yeah. So we should review the past? Any clues where to start with that? I mean are we talking 1930s past, or ancient Greece past? Also, Nico still can't access his powers. As the god of medicine do you have any ideas for how we might get them back?

Apollo chuckles again, though this time it isn't forced. He seems truly amused by Will's questions.

"Come on, Dad," Will says, flattening his palms on his thighs. "What's so funny?"

Apollo glances up at him, his golden blond bangs falling into his face and making him look so much like Will, only evil, that Nico has to quash the thought before he starts laughing too.

"You remind me of Asclepius. He never stopped asking questions either." He strums the last few chords of his song, and then holds the ukulele out by the neck. He shakes it and turns it back into the staff bearing Pythia. He and the snake exchange a glance, and then Apollo hands the staff to Will. "I think you're ready to carry this staff now. Let me have the other one back. I miss my guitar."

It's such a bullshit thing to say, especially considering the pile of guitars in the corner, but Will accepts the staff and passes Apollo his doctor's bag without pressing Apollo to answer his questions.

"We should go and talk to Chiron before we take off," Nico says, "especially if we're planning to leave today."

Apollo nods, already having turned the doctor's bag into a guitar. He picks up playing again, and though it is the same song, it doesn't sound as heartfelt as it had on the ukulele. Will gets to his feet and faces Apollo as Nico stands as well. "I know Asclepius means a lot to you. Nico saw him in a dream." Apollo stops playing and looks up at Will as if he's curious whether Will's telling the truth. "He's fighting back; he's still immortal, and we'll do our best to figure out how to get him out of Tartarus."

Apollo's lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything as they turn and head for the cave entrance. Nico suspects he's holding himself back from saying too much, and then recalls the end of his dream. He turns back as Will pushes past the curtain. "Asclepius isn't alone, either," he tells Apollo. "Leto is with him."

When Apollo doesn't respond, Nico follows Will out of the cave and back down the hill to the Big House.


	22. Chapter 22

Blackbirds in the Sky

Nico

As they walk, Will mumbles to Pythia, but Nico can't make out what he's saying from the noise their feet make crunching the underbrush.

When they reach the edge of camp, Will stops to check the time. It's seven o'clock. Nico looks out over the grounds. The sun is up, the woods alive with the cawing of crows. Pythia flicks Will's cheek with her tongue, drawing both their attention. "He cannot help you any more than he already has. The gods are forbidden to meddle too closely in the lives and quests of their demigod children, and Apollo has been punished for doing it before."

"Yeah, I guess," Will says darkly, and then starts walking again.

Nico watches him go, not following right away, just considering. Will had returned to the Hades Cabin from the Big House only hours ago, around one o'clock. He'd left Chiron to watch over Lou Ellen. Neither of them had gotten much sleep.

Will looks back over his shoulder as if he's just realized Nico isn't with him, and the relieved smile and half-wave he gives convinces Nico to give him a break. Even if they do return to their quest right away, he decides to insist they stop and make camp earlier rather than later. Sleep deprivation isn't Will's friend; he recalls that well enough as he catches up with Will at the volleyball court and they continue to the Big House together.

They find Chiron in his office, his chin on his chest and dozing.

Will lifts his finger to his lips and motions for Nico to follow him down the darkened hallway.

"I want you, if you don't mind…" he says, keeping his voice low, "…to take a look at Lou. See if you can tell what's happening to her?"

Nico agrees. He doesn't think it could hurt anything to have a look.

He realizes how very wrong he is a minute later.

Standing in the dark hallway outside the Infirmary doors, his heart beats so fast it feels like it might wear out and stop altogether. He focuses on the ugly striped pattern of the wallpaper on the wall across from him and can't get the image of Lou Ellen – more vapor than anything, an empty husk, a mirage – out of his head. He doesn't sense death around her, but then he can't access his powers right now, so he can't rely on that. The loss of his powers has never felt so real. He wonders if he can trust the rest of his senses anymore. His memory slides back to the dark tunnels in the shadow realm, the figure of Hekate blurring into three, and then returns to Lou Ellen. His knees ache. The old hole in his chest chews its way back into existence. Sweat slides down his face from his temples in cold trails – like snails, like rot, like death claiming him.

"Nico."

Will's voice.

_The sound of a door closing, another one opening, creaking wheels._

"Mr. Di Angelo." The deep and kindly voice of the aged centaur.

He comes back to himself, the image burned into his mind finally dissipating. Nico blinks. He meets Chiron's concerned dark eyes, and then finds Will staring at him, pale and aghast, like he can't believe he'd been so stupid not to foresee how Nico would react.

"I – I'm okay," Nico stammers as Will rushes forward to steady him. The flood of self-deprecating apologies that Will thankfully does not voice, bathes Nico in a rush of calm. He wants to tell Will to stop being an idiot, that he doesn't blame Will for his reaction, but not with Chiron looming over them.

"Let's talk in my office," Chiron suggests. He turns his chair around in the hallway with well-practiced ease, and they follow him.

The bronze-plated walls in Chiron's office have always given Nico a bit of a headache, but with his body still reeling, he feels like his brain is swollen and pressing against his skull. He sinks into one of two chairs before the desk. Will shuts the door and takes the other, then drapes his arm around Nico's back as if to keep him steady.

When Chiron finishes maneuvering his chair behind his desk, he folds his hands on the desktop and levels them with his eyes. "What happened?" he asks. He keeps his voice calm, but it doesn't quite mask his immortal power and intelligence. Nico picks up his annoyance. Before Will starts blabbering apologies and getting them wound up in an unnecessary conversation that will take more time than they have, Nico speaks first.

"I'm really okay. I just had an unexpected reaction to seeing Lou Ellen. But the real reason we're here is to talk about our quest." He grits his teeth after he finishes, his head throbbing.

"We just came from talking to Apollo," Will picks up, and Nico finds some relief in being able to rely on Will to explain the rest. "The prophecy hasn't been fulfilled yet, and Apollo has given us his blessing to continue it."

Chiron listens, his brow furrowed, his lips tight.

"Tartarus is rising, Chiron…" Will explains, "…and Hades is fighting back. Nico has seen it in his dreams. It's a doomed fight unless somebody comes to his aid. Apollo knows about it, but he can't defy Zeus's orders directly. He's here as a punishment. Nico, Lou Ellen, and I started this quest and we need to be the ones to finish it."

Chiron relaxes, sitting back in his chair and stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Yes. I am aware of the restraints on your father, and Tartarus rising would explain the lack of monsters in the world as of late. I'm not going to forbid you picking up where you left off, but there's one thing that troubles me. How are you going to help? Mr. Di Angelo, without your powers, and Will, your strength has always been geared toward healing rather than fighting."

Will slumps forward, his hands in his lap and leaving a cold spot on Nico's back where his arm had been. "Yeah, I know. That's part of why we went to talk to Apollo. But when I asked him if he could give us any hints about where to start, how to get Nico's powers back, how to succeed, he said he couldn't interfere."

"Really?" Chiron draws out the word as if he doesn't believe it for a second. "Do you recall what your questions were and how he responded?"

Will looks to Nico, and shrugs, like: _do you remember?_

Nico massages his left temple, recalling their conversation. It's hard when his head feels like a melon in a vise. "Uh, he talked about how gods were different from mortals, how they don't dream or have souls, about how they can die if people stop believing in them."

"Oh, right," Will adds as he straightens up again. "He said the reason they had demigod children was so they wouldn't lose their connection with the mortal world. Then he said he didn't want to overthrow Zeus because it would cause an imbalance and the Fates don't let things stay off balance."

Chiron nods and hums under his breath. "Mmm, good. That's very true. So when you asked for advice on how to succeed, what did he say?"

Nico wrinkles his forehead, thinking back. "Something about looking at the past to find the future. That everything is cyclical?" He looks to Will for confirmation, surprised to find him nodding, a smile spreading on his face. It gives him the same sort of odd glow that reminds Nico of Apollo.

"That's it!" Will cries, then lowers his voice, glancing at Nico sheepishly before turning back to Chiron. "He did answer. I asked where we should start with reviewing the past and he laughed at me and told me I reminded him of Asclepius."

Nico raises his eyebrows. "I'm not following. You and Asclepius are both his sons, you both have a snake staff thing. I think he said you both don't shut up, but that's not much of an answer."

Will smirks as he glares at Nico, though Nico can read his amusement through it. "Yes, but he said that right after I asked him where to start. So …" He turns to Chiron. "You raised Asclepius. What happened with him that we might benefit from knowing?"

Chiron strokes his beard again, his face drawn in thought. "Hmm. Asclepius performed his diagnoses through dreams after becoming a god, but since Apollo likened the two of you, he is probably referring to the time when Asclepius was mortal. He was Apollo's favorite son, the one he considered closest to his own heart. After Hades complained about Asclepius resurrecting people and cheating death, Zeus struck him down with a thunder bolt."

Will shudders and Nico forces himself to focus, his headache finally clearing.

"Well, let's hope that's not what he meant for you to read from the past." Chiron purses his lips, his head bobbing as he considers what else to tell them.

"How did Asclepius become a god?" Nico asks. "I mean, Zeus struck him down with lightning, right? So how did he go from being demigod toast to the god of healers?"

Chiron widens his eyes, his lips pulling down and chin jutting forward as he ponders Nico's line of questioning. Then he nods again. "Well, that was after Apollo went berserk and nearly caused a civil war among the Olympians. He killed the elder Cyclopes, and it was Athena that brought everything back into order by suggesting a compromise. Apollo agreed to become mortal for one year and to work in a servile position to a mortal if Zeus would grant Asclepius another chance. Athena used the blood of Medusa, taken from the right side of her severed neck and revived him, though the history books get that point wrong. Zeus made him a god, I think because he felt guilty and wanted to make it up to Apollo. Apollo is _his_ favorite son, too, you know? He understands that, or did at one time. However, I think he also did it so Asclepius would be easier to control, especially since Zeus considered Asclepius would be indebted to him."

Silence falls over the room, and then the sound of the conch shell on the porch, signalling breakfast, breaks it. Chiron wheels his chair back from the desk and retrieves a book from a stack on top of the filing cabinet.

"I need to get back to work, but you might read up more about Asclepius in this. I recommend you pack your things and leave camp before breakfast is finished. We want to avoid fanfare, especially with Zeus not being 'hero-friendly' at the moment."

Nico tosses a change of clothes into his backpack along with his travel necessities, then glances round his cabin one more time. A sense of foreboding fills him with dread and when his eyes fall on the small altar to Hades in the corner, he kneels before it without a second thought.

Lighting the candle and spreading a handful of Persephone's potpourri over the assorted bones lying on top, he prays for guidance.

"Persephone. I know we haven't always gotten along and I know part of that is my own lack of trying, but I need some help right now and I understand Hades has his hands full. If there's anything you can do, without breaking any oaths or drawing attention from Olympus, I'd really appreciate it. I'm walking blind right now."

He blows out the candle, and opens the door when Will knocks on it. "All set?"

Will nods as Nico closes the door. They stand on the porch of the Hades cabin, looking up at the Athena Parthenos on top of the hill.

"I checked in with Clovis. He said he'd keep an eye on both Cecil and Lou Ellen while we're gone. Guess it's time."

Nico nods dully.

They turn as a murder of crows take flight all at once from the forest, filling the valley with their cries and darkening the sky as they circle the strawberry fields.

Nico's heart sinks. If that was a sign from Persephone, his prayer may have done more harm than good.

"Just one thing left to figure out," he says, shouldering his backpack. "Transportation. For now, we're just gonna have to walk."


	23. Chapter 23

In My Shoes, A Walking Sleep

Rachel

After Rachel's recollection in the baths that she needed to inform Apollo about what she'd seen in her vision, Reyna convinces her to spend the night at Camp Jupiter first.

"You've had a rough day and honestly, I'm not comfortable beginning a cross-country drive without resting first."

"Yeah," Rachel says with a yawn. "Driving will take too long anyway. I think we should just head out early tomorrow, then charter a plane on our way to the airport. For something like this, I'm willing to dip in to the stupid trust fund."

They spend the night in Reyna's old room, packed and ready to leave at the crack of dawn.

XxxX

They meet Frank at the principia gate in the blue glow of early morning, the ground wet with dew, and the chill of fall evident in the misty vapor they exhale.

Frank absently rubs the back of his head, his bow and quiver strapped to his back.

"This visit to Camp Half-Blood," he says, his quiet voice drawing Rachel's attention away from the interesting patterns in the dirt path. "You're just delivering a message to Apollo, right? I'm just wondering why you don't send him an Iris-message."

They reach the tunnel and keep walking. She hasn't thought about trying to send an Iris-message. When she does now, her stomach sinks. "I'm not sure," she tells Frank. "It feels wrong. Usually I can communicate with him by praying or in a dream, but lately …" she searches for the right words, not wanting to sound ungrateful, but still expressing some of her frustrations, "… he's been distant. I think what I need to tell him is the sort of thing that needs to be done in person."

"Makes sense," Frank replies. His face is shadowed by the light of the dim torches, giving him a pensive sort of look. When they reach the more modern half of the tunnel and the torches make way for electric light-bulbs in wire cages, Frank seems more nervous than thoughtful.

"It will be a quick trip, Frank," Reyna says, speaking for the first time since they'd greeted him. "I'm leaving my things with Hazel, and after we see Apollo, we'll be coming back to pick up Piper and return to Berkeley."

Rachel can't help cracking a smile. "I don't think Piper was too upset about having to wait a while longer. She and Jason left the baths rather quickly after finding out."

Frank's cheeks, already pink from the cold air, grow redder as they reach the end of the tunnel. Rachel spots Reyna's SUV where they had left it, behind a bush, hidden from the view of the freeway.

Reyna claps Frank on the shoulder, and then salutes him. "Thank you for escorting us, Praetor Zhang. We'll be back before you know it."

Frank smiles at her and returns the salute.

Rachel buckles her seatbelt as Reyna adjusts the seat and mirrors, shifts the car into reverse, and then starts the trundling drive down the slope to the freeway. The knot of bitter emotions that had grown since Rachel's vision seems to finally loosen. They're on their way. Soon she'll see Apollo in person and tell him exactly what she thinks of his lack of attention.

Dread hits her like a knife to her heart and she covers Reyna's hand on the steering wheel with her own hand. "Stop."

Reyna hits the brakes, only a dozen feet from the freeway and looks at Rachel. "What?"

And then the earthquake hits. A sound like ripping paper magnified times a million hits her ears, rattling the car windows and resonating through her bones as the car begins to shake. A deep rumbling follows and dirt fills the air in a thick cloud, coating the windshield as the seatbelt bites into Rachel's chest and steals her breath. The only thing she can do is hold on to her seat in the rattling car and wait. Her imagination spins with the sounds of monstrous crashing, rocks on rocks – more offensive to her ears than fingernails scraping against chalkboards – screeching tires, distant screams.

It stops as quickly as somebody snuffing a candle flame, Rachel's ears ringing with the sudden silence. She jumps when Reyna turns on the windshield wipers, her eyes bugging out at the devastation in front of them.

The southbound freeway, normally five lanes of endlessly moving traffic has split straight across. A gap about ten feet across at the widest point stops traffic. One car teeters on the edge of the gap while a smash of cars piles up behind it.

"We need to go back," Reyna says, the determination in her voice barely concealing a tremor of fear. Rachel catches it anyway.

Reyna turns the engine back on and shifts into reverse, pushing down on the gas pedal. The wheels spin, but they don't move. Purely on instinct, Rachel unfastens her seatbelt and Reyna's as well.

"Get out! Right now!"

She pushes her door open and leaps outside, stumbling backwards as the ground rumbles and the split in the freeway spreads, swallowing the SUV. She climbs back up the hill, her heart hammering in her chest. She turns back, relief crashing over her as Reyna pushes through a cloud of dirt, her eyes focused, her body moving with the strength and grace of a panther.

"I'd say that was _not_ an auspicious beginning to our journey," Reyna says drily as she approaches.

Rachel doesn't care that it's a ridiculous time to find humor in Reyna's statements. She laughs and throws her arms around Reyna's waist. Reyna returns the embrace, her cheek pressed against Rachel's neck.

"Are you okay?" Reyna asks.

"I'm fine. We need to …" She stops, her eyes widening. From inside the crevice, skeletal figures: zombies with half-rotted flesh and creatures that the Oracle tells her are Spartoi climb out and join the mass of hysterical mortals. "Oh shit."

Reyna releases her, then spins, her sword in hand. Her eyes fix on the undead rising like ants from a colony, more numerous than should be. "They don't –" She narrows her eyes. "They don't seem to be attacking. The mortals can't see them."

Another rumbling sound fills her ears and Rachel braces herself for an aftershock, but the ground remains steady, the rumble turning into a roar.

"There!" Reyna shouts, pointing due north of the crevice.

A motorcycle with a single rider dressed in black leather, speeds toward the crevice, going the wrong way on the freeway. Before they hit the split in the road, they disappear. Reyna and Rachel turn around as the roaring engine sounds behind them, sputtering as the rider parks it, and then kills the engine.

The rider pulls off their helmet, shaking out long red hair before turning and fixing fierce green eyes on them. Rachel's heart thuds, nearly stopping. "Mom?" It's impossible. There is not a single circumstance she can imagine that her mother would be seen dressed as a biker, let alone anywhere near a motorcycle.

The woman grins, her teeth gleam brighter and look sharper than they should.

"CC is your mother?" Reyna asks, her brow furrowed, dark eyes fixed on the woman. She points at the split in the freeway, at the dead crawling out of it en masse. "Is this your doing?"

The woman rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue, then folds her arms across her chest and stares them down. The message she intends comes off clear as day in her posture: _earthquakes? Oh please. If I did it, the destruction would be far worse._

The answer pops into Rachel's mind as if the Oracle whispers it to her. She can appear as any person you harbor a grudge against. "Nemesis. That's who you are."

"Hey!" Frank calls, pushing a rock nearly half his size from the entrance to the tunnel. "Are you okay?" He waves his hand through the dust, his face draining of color as he spots them talking to Nemesis.

Nemesis gives them a sharp nod, paying Frank no mind. "Yes. I'm here to give you a ride to Camp Half-Blood, Rachel Elizabeth Dare."

Reyna steps forward, half-blocking Rachel. "Not without me, you're not."

Nemesis scuffs the ground with her boot. "Oh, but you see, there is only room for one passenger on my bike, and it is Rachel who has earned it." She climbs back onto the motorcycle's seat, then twists her hand, creating a helmet out nothing. She tosses it to Rachel.

"You don't do favors without a price," Reyna argues. "What are you asking?"

Nemesis addresses Rachel when she answers. "While revenge is my typical M.O. Today another scale needs balancing. Rachel, how long have you suffered your body to house the Delphic Oracle?"

Rachel squeezes Reyna's elbow to let her know that she can handle this conversation. The Oracle seems to be guiding her to accept the ride. "About three or four years. Why?"

Nemesis tucks her helmet under her elbow. "Right. And how many times – now, for instance – have you called out to your patron and have it fall on deaf ears?"

Rachel's face flushes. She has been increasingly frustrated with Apollo. He never seems to come when she needs him, instead he'll turn up after she's already dealt with the problem, or at very inopportune moments: between classes when she has to cross campus and can't stop to talk, or when she's using the toilet, or the one time when she and Reyna were getting frisky under the sheets. "Too often," she says. "But I don't want to bring any sort of bad luck down on him."

Nemesis cackles. It's unnerving to hear the sound coming from somebody wearing her mother's face. "I wouldn't worry yourself over that. He brings misfortune down on himself often enough, I don't feel justified in doling out more. Thing is, kid. I'm tired of always being remembered as the bad guy in the quests of heroes. Doing you a solid will balance the scale for me, as well as getting you to Apollo."

"But –" Reyna interjects before Nemesis stops her.

"You are needed here, former praetor. Hazel Levesque is the only person nearby who has the power to send these souls back where they belong, and her power is cloaked. She needs you to help her access it again."

Reyna meets Rachel's eyes. "Is this what you want to do?"

"It's not my first choice," Rachel admits. "But yeah. Go help your camp and I'll deal with Apollo. Be back before you know it."

Reyna nods and pecks Rachel's lips with a quick kiss.

"Tick tock," Nemesis drawls. "Time is of the essence." She slips her helmet on, concealing her face, and revs the engine.

"Love you," Rachel whispers, then climbs onto the bike behind Nemesis. She puts on her helmet and holds onto Nemesis's waist.

Frank catches up to Reyna before they take off, his words putting a smile on her face as Nemesis kicks the bike into gear and they take off, flying down the empty freeway faster than a bat out of hell.

"Grandma? Reyna … Those skeletons …"


	24. Chapter 24

Fading

Apollo

After Apollo is certain the boys have left camp, he visits the dining pavilion where breakfast is already being served and takes his seat at the main table. Chiron joins him before long, but the effort of not thinking about the challenges in store for Nico and Will make it hard to focus on pretty much anything. Fortunately, Chiron seems to be in a similar mood and doesn't press him to talk.

Chiron leads the year-round campers to the arena for sword fighting class after the meal, and Apollo leans his elbows on the table, propping his chin in his hands. His mind is so far away from camp, he startles when a cleaning harpy comes by and sweeps the dirty dishes into a giant bin, spraying his arm with rainbow colored milk from a bowl of Froot Loops.

He shakes his head at himself, walking back to the Oracle cave. Normally he can handle having his mind split in a thousand directions at once. It's a necessary skill when you're the god of so many spheres of influence, but today … Will and Nico's parting words bounce around in his brain like an echo in an endless cavern. Tartarus is rising? Asclepius is there with his mother? When had his mother been sent to Tartarus? As far as he is aware, she's been vacationing for the past thousand years in Hyperborea. Now though, he just can't think about it. The quest, Hades' show of heroism in defiance of Olympus, all of it threatens to overwhelm him with grief. If it is true, that Tartarus is rising, he would know about it. His oracle would make sure he wasn't left in the dark. But that trail of thought opens a whole new can of worms. He's been avoiding Rachel. He's not sure why exactly, but thinks it might just be a bad habit. For more than fifty years, his Oracle was trapped; nearly silenced. The renewed connection feels odd. Later, he tells himself. He'll think about it later.

He passes the volleyball court, pushing those thoughts to the very back of his mind and wonders if Zephyros made it to Olympus. Apollo hopes he won't be gone long, even now, his body feels incomplete without the constant kiss of Zephyr's warm breezes over his skin.

He climbs Half-Blood Hill, his body feeling off, different. He's always been fond of his human form, and seldom feels the need to alter it, but now it's as if … It wants, he decides. Yearns for feathery wings, a hot and firm chest: Zephyros. The idea is entirely ridiculous as Zephyr hasn't even been gone long, not even half of a day.

He pushes the purple curtain to the side and crosses the cave to his couch, then throws himself face down onto it. Pining. That's what is happening to him. Why does it feel so much worse than it had in the past, when he'd pined after potential lovers? This time it's physical, like his body screams, thrashing against the trappings of skin to reunite with its other half. Is this what it felt like to the humans when Zeus split them in two? He'd felt an absence when the Oracle part of him was removed, but being a god, he could still access her in spite of the severance.

Maybe it's because he'd declared marriage between himself and Zephyros, or maybe after being twice stripped of his immortality, he's held onto a little too much humanity. He dismisses the thought as he breathes in the leather musk of the couch cushion. The scent of Zephyr and his last coupling fills his nose, promising relief. His godly nature has already healed the lingering stretch he'd hoped would last longer. He longs for it now, his pants growing tight, grinding his hips against the couch.

"Screw it," he mutters, his voice muffled. He's horny as fuck and there's one solution within easy reach.

He transforms the couch into his bed with half a thought, vanishing his clothes with the other half, then rolls onto his back and spreads his legs open at the hips. He conjures a dildo modeled after Zephyros with another thought, and then gets down to it, teasing his nipples in turn with one hand, and fucking himself with the dildo in the other.

He closes his eyes and allows his consciousness to sink into sensation. He revisits his memories of giving himself to Zephyros. The first one, right after he'd spirited Zephyros to Delos and had taken him first. How Zephyros turned the tables on him, spreading his wings and flipping their positions. The desperate look in his dark eyes that begged for a balance of power, and Apollo had been so moved, he didn't even question it. And then, how Zephyros seemed to know Apollo's body, hitting all of his hot spots without effort, stealing the breath from his lungs before giving it back, his kisses dominant and eager. Apollo had known he couldn't give Zephyros up, couldn't have only one night with him and then move on to whatever came next.

He pushes the dildo as far inside himself as he can, picturing the awe in Zephyros's eyes as his climax had drawn near. He can hear Zephyros call his name as he'd crested, spilling his release inside Apollo's body.

"Apollo."

Apollo jerks his hips as he pumps his cock with his fist, his own orgasm splashing up his chest at the sound of his name in Zephyros's voice. He shudders, gasping his breaths, his smile stuck on his lips as endorphins flood his body and leave him tingling. He licks the sweat from the corners of his mouth as he gives his prostate a couple additional prods, feeling so sensitized, it's almost like being close to coming again.

"Mhm. It figures. Where a man uses a phallus, there am I with him."

Apollo stills immediately. The voice doesn't belong to Zephyros at all. He recognizes it at once, his face flooding with heat, but too sated to bother with embarrassment. He dissolves the dildo into Mist and transforms the bed back into a couch, cleaning himself up and restoring his clothes at the same time. Then he opens his eyes and stares up at the newcomer.

"Dionysus?" It's unnerving, but not unpleasant to find his baby brother restored to his youthful vigor. His dark brown curls framing his face in ringlets, and his body a mix of hard and soft, of round and flat, dressed in a simple white robe. "You look fabulous. Damn. It feels like forever since I've seen you strut your stuff."

Dionysus waves away the compliment. "Yes, well … It depends on my mood," he says as Apollo sits up and makes room on the couch. "Am I interrupting?"

Apollo wrinkles his nose. It's pointless to get worked up over his brother walking in on such a private moment. It's not the first time it has happened and likely won't be the last. He shakes his head and gestures for Dionysus to sit.

"What brings you back to camp so quickly and looking so young and dapper?"

Dionysus takes a seat, his eyes tightening at the corners, looking pained. "Appearances can be misleading." He sighs, then adds: "I don't want to talk about it. I need a place to lie low for a while, and pray that father gets his shit together soon."

Apollo raises his eyebrows, but it seems as though Dionysus is not in the mood to elaborate. He fishes for a change of subject, half-hoping to hear news about Zephyros without flat out asking.

"Did you, uh … What are the other gods up to?"

Dionysus shifts his hips on the couch, giving Apollo a suspicious glance at the hesitation in the question, then settles back, frowning. He looks sulky.

"Most of them are doing the same thing as I am. Retreating to their comfort zones and lying low. Well, except Athena. She's still hanging around. And Hera, of course. She actually called Iris back into service if you can believe it. I've not seen such a pout on the rainbow goddess's face in years. Aphrodite refuses to retreat, but she's beating a dead horse in trying to get father to let up on Ares." He sighs again. "For some reason, and it makes absolutely no sense, he thinks Ares is his greatest threat."

Apollo makes a face. "Yeah? But wasn't Ares like, not even sired by–" Dionysus interrupts him with an elbow to the side. "Ow. What?"

"I am aware of how Chloris assisted Hera in Ares' conception, but how safe is it really, to speak of it with father in his current state of mind? For all the eons he and Hera have been married, he feared siring sons by her. I believe it was her own feelings of deficiency that inspired her to bear Ares and Hephaestus, and considering their only other children are Hebe and Eileithyia, she probably questions her own right to claim marriage and motherhood as her domain."

As Dionysus summons the remote control from the shelving unit against the wall, Apollo doesn't argue. The signs of Hera's self-doubt – her many rages against her husband's lovers, her frustration with Zeus acting outside of her control – throw light on Dionysus's observation. Even if he wasn't the god of prophecy, Apollo suspects anybody interested would be able to see it. Equally true, it is probably in their best interest not to speak freely about these matters, especially with Zeus's increasing lack of clarity.

He tries to steer the subject back to before Hera cropped up. "Did you tell anybody that you'd be hiding out here?"

Dionysus flips through the channels, almost like he needs something to keep him occupied than because he's interested in watching television. He exhales through his nose, then turns the power off. He hums, his lips pursed as if he's weighing the pros and cons of answering truthfully.

Apollo waits, reading his body language. The way his jaw clenches means he's carrying some sort of burden. The way he shifts his eyes from staring intently forward, not really seeing the room around him, and then glances at Apollo from the corners of his eyes – Apollo reads as Dionysus wanting to confide in him, but being held back by fear. Finally, he speaks.

"I _did_ mention it to one person, but it's somebody I believe I can trust. I'm pretty sure anyway. Oh bother. I don't even know why I talk to anybody anymore. I think he's got the right idea though, and Aphrodite, and even Athena … _Something_ has to give." The last half of his answer he says under his breath, more thinking aloud than talking to Apollo.

Apollo's interest is piqued. "Well, who is it? If you feel comfortable telling me. I hope that you feel you can trust me to keep what you say between us."

Dionysus rolls his eyes, and slaps Apollo's thigh. "Don't be daft. I've always trusted you. I don't think there's a dishonest bone in your body. Deliberately misleading, yes, but not dishonest." He huffs and readjusts his position, moving one leg onto the couch, and sitting on his foot so he can face Apollo without needing to turn. "I'm willing to tell you who it was, but first … Are you still nursing owie feels over that mortal golden boy from three-thousand years ago?"

Apollo shakes his head, trying to keep from smiling too widely. Still, even if Dionysus says he trusts Apollo, Apollo's not quite sure _he_ can confide in his brother about what he and Zephyr have done. Godly marriage has been under Hera's rule for eons, and she made it pretty clear in changing Iphis into a man before allowing his marriage to Ianthe to proceed that a marriage between men would be taken as a personal affront to her rule.

He pushes his concern to back of his mind once more. At least the thought worked to subdue his grin. "If Zephyr is the god you're hinting at, no. I'm no longer bitter. We've talked … Moved on, so to speak."

Dionysus throws his head back and breathes a huge relieved sigh, his posture relaxing. "Thank Zeus for that." He straightens up, more gossipy and at ease than he's been in a very long time. Apollo half wonders if he hasn't broken his vow and dipped into his wine stores. "I can't _even_tell you how awkward it's been – after you two were so close in the beginning – to have to choose which of you to invite to parties, and to swear the guests to silence so the other one wouldn't find out about it. A real pain in my ass, I'm telling you." Apollo wrinkles his forehead and rubs the back of his neck. He stares at Dionysus. Dionysus stares back. "What?"

"What do you mean we were really close in the beginning?"

Apollo wonders if he's missing some sort of joke. Maybe Dionysus planned the punchline and forgot to set it up or something, or maybe – his stomach sinks – maybe he's been pushing his thoughts and memories to the back of his mind for so long he's actually lost them.

"Pfft. Seriously? It was all over Hephaestus TV for the longest time. The two of you, sneaking off and getting busy in corners of the garden, the palace broom closets, raiding Aphrodite's panty drawer. Oh! Then the one time when … Let's see. Oh yes. Zephyr was being all coy and sexy, waiting for you to come back to your room. He had on this skimpy little black number, cut open at the backside, and when you came in, he was ready on his hands and knees, looking over his shoulders like, 'see something you want, big boy?'" Dionysus busts out laughing, catching his breath with forced determination and a few gasps, waving his hand as if brushing aside the recollection. "We all saw it, but nobody said anything because it looked like you were having fun and it wasn't hurting anybody. Actually, now that I think about it, Father may have gotten the idea that having a little stress boy around might be the perfect solution to, you know … _distract_ himself from the …" He rolls his wrist, obviously trying to avoid invoking Hera's name. "… pressures of ruling."

Apollo's mind is blown. How can he not recall such an event? The idea that he and Zephyros were already fooling around, flaunting the norms before the whole debacle with Hyacinthus is just absurd. As far as he can recall, other than the day Dionysus was born and Zephyr coined the phrase: _blow job_, they hadn't been intimate.

"Why can't I remember such a thing? Other than one time in the palace garden, you were too young to remember and you were still a demi-god, Zephyr and I hadn't exchanged more than a few glances."

Dionysus shrugs, and then stretches out his legs. "I have a picture if you don't believe me." He slips his hand inside his robe and withdraws a photograph, then passes it to Apollo. He snaps his fingers at the television, turning it on, when he can't find where he'd put the remote, and then again to summon a diet coke.

Apollo stares at the picture in his hands, mesmerised. His memory of the day flooding back into his mind as if upgrading from black and white to color. The rest of the memories Dionysus mentioned must be dormant as well, waiting for something to jog them, to make them vivid again.

Hands trembling, Apollo's heart feels like it's breaking. Did somebody do this to him on purpose? To Zephyros as well? He sniffles, unable to keep his emotions under wraps.

"Keep it if you want," Dionysus grunts, his eyes fixed on the television screen. "I've got loads."

Apollo wipes his eyes, blinking at the beautiful pose captured on Hephaestus-invented Memory Cardstock™. "Thanks."

They sit without speaking for a while, Dionysus growing more and more frustrated with not being able to find the remote control, though Apollo suspects most of it is theatrical. He's giving Apollo a chance to compose himself. Apollo digs the remote out from between the couch cushions and passes it over, earning a smile from his brother.

Dionysus squints at him, then sniffs the air. "You're different, Apollo. What has changed about you? You smell like, well not quite, but close to … a _human_."

Apollo smacks the back of Dionysus's head, and then sets the photo on the side table.

"Shut up, baby brother. It takes one to know one." He sticks out his tongue as Dionysus chuckles, then stands up and stretches. "You know what? It's been a long time since we've had a duel. You up for it?"

Dionysus's purple eyes gleam, the fire inside them sparking to life. "Oh. You are on!"

XxxX

A/N: As I can't leave links here, I encourage you readers who are interested to google: Iphis and Ianthe to read more about the myth referenced in this chapter.


	25. Chapter 25

Growing Colder

Rachel

Rachel climbs off the motorcycle on shaky legs, gravel crunching beneath her shoes. She feels surreal when she takes off her helmet and breathes fresh air again. She wipes the sweat off her cheeks and forehead. The quiet country air makes the ringing in her ears even louder. Riding across the country far faster than any human could manage with only the sounds of her own breathing and the constant roar of the engine screaming in her ears despite the ear mufflers had made Rachel feel like she was holding onto the Wicked Witch of the West in the eye of a tornado. She tries to pop her ears, dropping her jaws. Rachel's hearing seems to be okay because when Nemesis speaks, her voice grates like sandpaper on wood.

"There has been an injustice in this house. An overreach. I cannot tell by whom."

She disappears in a cloud of inky smoke, leaving the scent of sulfur behind. Rachel coughs, waving the smoke out of her face and trying to recall what it was she came to do. Her face is stiff with drying sweat, her skin tight and she can only imagine the fright her hair must be in. The motorcycle is still humming, its engine cooling down, and Rachel puts her helmet on the seat.

_Apollo,_ the Oracle whispers inside her brain. _You must inform Apollo about the threat of Tartarus rising._ She stops short, her heart racing. How long_had_ the trip from Camp Jupiter taken? The sky is already beginning to grow dark, reminding Rachel of the urgency of the situation. She jogs up the porch stairs on rubbery legs and pokes her head into the den, then the parlor, looking for signs of life.

Chiron's apartment is empty, as is his office. Rachel closes the office door and is about ready to check Mr. D's apartment and the Rec Room upstairs when she hears voices from the infirmary at the end of the hall.

"What has been done to her? What evil has been welcome in the house?"

Rachel sighs. The voice belongs to Nemesis and she sounds spitting mad.

A startled yelp follows.

"Ahhh. Miley Cyrus? No! It was only a dream. I swear!"

Rachel opens the infirmary door to find Clovis blinking sleep out of his eyes from the tatty sofa in the waiting area and Nemesis in her black leather pants and blood red jacket towering over him wearing Rachel's mother's face. Without her helmet, Nemesis makes Rachel's skin crawl. She tries to push the sensation aside so she can figure out what the hell is going on.

"Shut up, you overstuffed marshmallow. I am Nemesis and I demand to know what has befallen this girl." She points sharply at a hospital bed, its occupant hidden behind a wheeled standing curtain. "She is the daughter of my companion goddess and I _will_ have justice!"

Rachel approaches, and Clovis looks up at her imploringly, his hands held up as if to say 'I don't know what's going on'. Nemesis doesn't take her eyes off of him as she addresses Rachel.

"Oracle of Delphi. Gaze upon the evidence yourself. Tell me why I cannot divine the person responsible for her state."

Rachel pushes the curtain aside, her mind retreating at the sight greeting her. A girl, Lou Ellen, Rachel thinks, lies curled on her side, suspended about three inches above the mattress. Her body is only a trace of its usual appearance, transparent, like a ghost or a colorless image made visible by smoke.

_Smoke? No. Mist._ is the last independent thought Rachel has before everything turns green.

The room fills with green vapor. The scent of snakeskin and ancient dust drives Rachel's mind into a passive role, though she is still conscious and aware. She looks out from behind her own eyes, as if peering through a window from the middle of a room. More mist swirls around her face, and she realizes as the Oracle starts to speak that it comes from her own mouth. The voice cracks with a sound like turning tissue-thin pages in an old book.

_The child of Magic in limbo stretched thin.  
Another of meek, unintentional sin._

_Unite the siblings forgotten by time.  
Heal the rift on the back of a dime._

_Victory if the charge resonates from the West.  
Eastern seeds sown will reap tears and new death._

_Sunbeams break through Erebus  
Fulfilling the Inheritance._

The sky is dark when Rachel leaves the Big House and begins the trek to her cave. Her legs tremble with every step she takes; her bones feel brittle, her nerves frayed.

She'd passed out after the Oracle uttered another prophecy, not because the experience overtaxed her, but because nobody bothered to catch her afterward and she'd struck her head on the floor. She rubs the tender knot forming on the back of her head and winces, her teeth chattering.

After coming to, Cecil was there. Apparently he'd awakened in the Hypnos cabin and had come looking for Clovis and to check on Lou Ellen. When he'd found Rachel sprawled across the floor and Clovis snoring on the couch, he'd moved her to the other side of the couch and waited for her to wake up. Together, they shook Clovis awake, and when Rachel had asked where Nemesis had gone, he said she had listened to the prophecy as if she understood what it meant.

"Like you were answering her question. Uh.. She'd asked why she couldn't tell who had made Lou Ellen like that. Then you started up the green smoke and the prophecy, and Miley … I mean Nemesis just nodded. She said something like, 'demigod quests. In that case …' Then she disappeared."

He'd relayed the story interspersed with yawns. Then nodded off, mumbling something about telling Nico about it. Cecil insisted Rachel be seen by Chiron before she did anything else. The rest is fast becoming a blur. All she wants is to get back to her cave where Chiron said she would be able to reach Apollo, and then have a shower and crash.

Rachel's stomach growls. Yeah. She should probably eat something too. It'd been nearly a full day since she'd eaten anything. She crosses her arms and hugs herself as she climbs the hill, the wind picking up and making her teeth chatter.

As she approaches the purple curtain covering the cave entrance, she hears music coming from inside. Techno music. Groaning because she really doesn't want to deal with loud or fast paced music after hitting her head, she pushes past the curtain and stops stock-still in front of the curtain, not wanting to believe what she's seeing. Her face flushes with heat.

Apollo and another young man, their backs to Rachel, are playing Dance Dance Revolution before an enormous television screen. The arrows on the screen move faster than Rachel has ever seen them go before and they dance erratically on their individual floor mats, moving just as fast. It's not the game that has her blushing, it's their outfits. Apollo is dressed in a sleeveless white leotard, ending above his knees - similar to what a wrestler would wear, but because it's white and he's sweating, he may as well be naked. The other god, for no human could possibly match Apollo's pace, is similarly dressed, but his singlet is purple and accessorized with a black mesh crop top and a lavender leopard print sash tied around his waist. His black curly hair bounces off his shoulders as he dances. They don't seem to realize they aren't alone anymore.

Rachel sighs, then looks at the rest of the room. It's all different – the numerous guitars, a shelving unit stuffed with various musical instruments, the stereo system, television, gaming systems, numerous antique statuettes, the leather couch pushed up against another bookshelf to make room for the dance mats – none of these things are Rachel's. The only parts of her room left intact are the cuckoo clock, table lamp and a pair of large canvases propped against the back wall.

She puts her hands on her hips, gearing up her strength to call Apollo out and force him to listen, but her energy fails her.

"You've been practicing. Keep it up and you might actually tie with me," the god dancing with Apollo says, laughter in his voice.

That voice, it wigs Rachel out because the guy sounds a lot like Mr. D. She looks at him again, her pulse racing against her will at the sight of his ass, round and plump, perfectly so, his muscles flexing under the purple fabric.

Apollo laughs as he dances. "Ah, baby brother. What happens if I beat you? Do I get a prize?"

It _is_ Mr. D, Rachel realizes, only he's hot, and the idea of the grumpy, pouty camp director turning her on makes her queasy.

"If you're looking for a place to stick your dick, forget it. I'd consider a blow job fair …" Apollo missteps and his dance meter dips.

Rachel turns around and marches back outside, staring up at the sky. _Why me? Can't I catch a single break?_

The stars grow fuzzy, blurring with the black sky, and voice calls her name as her vision streaks with white. She takes a deep breath. Somebody has an arm around her waist, helping her stand by propping her up, her back against their body.

"Are you okay? I had to talk to Chiron first, but I didn't think you'd leave by yourself."

_That's Cecil's voice._

Rachel nods, feeling dumb. "S-sorry," she says, her teeth chattering again. She allows Cecil to lead her back to the cave, utterly spent.


	26. Chapter 26

To Be Alone With Me

Nico

Fortunately for Nico, Will has the idea to whistle for a pegasus before they get too far from camp. Unfortunately, the pegasus who responds to the call is Porkpie. He's the one that has always shied away from Nico, and despite not being able to speak horse, Nico thinks it's the 'death' thing that offends the animal.

Will raises his hand as the pegasus touches down, and then rubs Porkpie's neck in greeting.

"Well, he should be able to get us across New York. We'll have to figure out how we're going to get across the country, but it's a start." Porkpie apparently likes Will, as he nuzzles Will's neck with his cheek. Will gives him one last pat, climbs onto his back, and transfers his backpack to his lap, making room.

Nico tenses as Porkpie looks at him over his shoulder, then nickers as if to say: _Well, you coming too?_ The tension from their previous encounters has vanished. He climbs up behind Will and holds onto his waist. Porkpie canters down Farm Road and then lifts off, flying away from the Sound.

They soar upwards with such force, the pull makes Nico feel heavy, like his body is left behind. He holds onto Will tighter, burying his face between Will's shoulder blades, his eyes shut tight and waiting for the sensation to even out.

XxxX

Nico opens his eyes, staring up at a high domed ceiling painted like a summer sky, the sun blazing in the center and sending beams across an expanse of blue. Cloud nymphs interspersed with winged wind spirits dot the expanse, making Nico feel as if he's left the Earth behind and is instead floating on a cloud among them.

He grimaces and revises the thought. It would be like that if the surface he lay upon weren't hard as marble. Heavy limbed, as if the backside of his body was a magnet and the floor, its opposite, he takes deep breaths, gearing up his energy to try and pull himself up.

And then he hears a low moan, his cheeks growing hot as it's followed up with a slap, a grunt, and heavy panting growing louder and faster.

He pushes himself up on his arms, still not sure where exactly he is or how he got here, and his eyes widen, frozen in place. Not more than ten feet from his feet, Zephyros, dressed in a less than a scrap of black nylon – like panties with the backside open – is on his hands and knees, on an enormous white bed. His red wings are smaller than usual and stretched out on either side of him while Apollo fucks him, all lines of glistening tanned muscle working hard.

Nico comes back to himself when Apollo lands a slap on one of Zephyros's ass cheeks, and Nico scrambles to his feet, turning this way and that, looking for a way out.

"Nico di Angelo," comes Zephyros's melodious voice from right behind him. It sends a shiver racing down Nico's spine and making his scalp tingle. "Thank goodness. I've been trying to reach you, but it felt like you were never going to fall asleep."

Nico turns around again, the image of Apollo and Zephyros on the bed is blurred, and thankfully pushed back against the far wall of the room. Nico focuses on Zephyros's fond smile, his black curls longer than in the image, his wings, large and spread behind his arms, open in a welcoming gesture. He's dressed in his usual attire of late: an orange camp t-shirt, khaki bermuda shorts, and sandals.

"I'm asleep?" Nico asks. It's the oddest sensation, not being able to tell the difference between the dream world and reality. Perhaps he's starting to lose the rest of his demigod powers, or the absence of his underworld powers is stretching the ones remaining thin. He shakes his head, as if trying to clear his ears, and has to work at staying focused.

Zephyros chuckles, then slings an arm around Nico's shoulders. He walks him over to the large window, looking out from up high at the bright bustling streets and winding gardens of Mt Olympus. "Olympus looks a lot different now," Zephyros says, his usual flirtatious lilt, more subdued, wistful even. "This …" Zephyros gestures out the window, then at the ceiling and the room in general, "… is ancient history. I'd lost this memory, but …" He sighs, falling silent.

Puzzling, Nico's mind works in overtime. Zephyros had lost a memory of himself and Apollo. He glances over his shoulder at the figures on the bed, blurred as if they were being censored for television, then back at Zephyros's sad dark eyes fixed on the window. "So …" he stammers, trying to think out loud. "You and Apollo _had_ been together, like, way before the falling out with Eros?"

Zephyros nods, his image in the window reflecting his sorrow. "I'm actually not doing so well," he says, addressing Nico's reflection in the window, their eyes meeting. "I'm here on Olympus now. I got called to serve as messenger, right after …" He sighs again, then sends a small smile at Nico. "Apollo and I are together again, officially. Or, I suppose we _are_ keeping it on the down low, but it feels really good. Like finding a home." He stares at the window, lost in thought or memory before shaking his head, remembering the conversation. "Oh, right. We probably don't have a lot of time, even with the fluidity of dreams. Everything's changing. I'm trapped at the moment, nothing major to worry about yet, but who knows for how long. Zeus is not, uh – right in the head. I think that's the right expression." He wrinkles his forehead, losing the conversation again.

The hairs on the back of Nico's neck prickle. He's not sure if he's more irritated because Zephyros is gatecrashing his dreams again, the reminder of years of lost memories, or the idea of Zeus losing his grip on the world and allowing it to fall to ruin. To Tartarus. Nico shudders, recalling the quest.

"Look. I don't mean to be pushy, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. Will and I have picked up our quest again, the rest of the prophecy … You wouldn't have any ideas about what it could mean, would you?"

Zephyros shrugs. "I'm not supposed to involve myself with demigod quests, at least not without instruction from another god. On my own though, I haven't been sworn into this position yet."

He seems to be trying to talk himself into finding a loophole. Nico nods, encouraging him.

"_The wretched one must make a stand, topple the head, draw a line in the sand._ It sounds to me like somebody needs to stand up to Zeus, to lay down a boundary for him. I don't believe anybody but another god would be capable of doing it. I know Aphrodite thought it referred to Apollo, but I promise you, he might be more subdued lately, but he isn't wretched."

The truth dawns on Nico like a curtain being lifted from his eyes. He stares at Zephyros's reflection, his forehead creased. "My father, you mean? The one who needs to stand up to Zeus? And all this time we've thought it would be one of Zeus's sons?"

Zephyros tilts his head thoughtfully. "Zeus has been tormented by an irrational fear after he seized control of the world from his own father. There was a prophecy that a son of Zeus and his first wife would likewise overthrow his father. And …" Zephyros's expression grows dark, etched with distaste. "… following Cronos's example, Zeus swallowed her while she was pregnant. It's irrational because the child of Metis was Athena, a female, and she was born anyway. Metis can no longer bear Zeus children and, according to Athena, she has become pure thought. She has merged together with Zeus and is the source of his wise counsel."

Ideas flicker through Nico's mind, slotting into place, his purpose on the quest becoming clearer. "I need to convince my father to do it. I should go to him, find a way to contact him. I hate that he cut off my powers. It would be so much easier if I could just shadow-travel."

Zephyros pauses, standing still with his ears perked, as if he's listening for sounds of danger. He relaxes after a few moments. "Before you go on, I need you to hear what's happened to me. I don't want you to alert Apollo about it. I think it could be disastrous if he were to confront Zeus. I'm with Ganymede right now. We're locked in his room. It was an accident I was even here. Neither of us think Zeus is aware of it. What I witnessed – Zeus, when he's _with_ Ganymede –" Zephyros raises his eyebrows, putting an image in Nico's mind that Nico would rather not have "– he's back to his old self. Like restored to his youth, beautiful; all laughter and smiles."

Nico rolls his eyes without realizing until Zephyros tuts at him.

"I know it's hard to imagine, but I knew Zeus when he was young, way before he freed his siblings. And the way these two are in love? It's really sweet. But see, there's something else going on. Ganymede is head over heels with Zeus when he's _himself_, but then there are times when he isn't. According to Ganymede, it's always been like this. In the beginning Zeus didn't flip to the darker aspect very often at all, and Ganymede was fine with dealing with an occasional 'bad day'. But now, the bad days are more common. While I was here, trying to give them privacy, not to interrupt … anyway, something dark brushed up against me. It was like a malignant force, feeling around and trying to blend with me – in wind form, you understand?"

Nico nods again, waiting for Zephyros to go on.

"The thing reeked, all toxic and alien. When I shifted away, it dissipated, and then Zeus changed back to his brooding, creepy aspect. Ganymede is at his wits end with dealing with it. He provoked Zeus, not caring if it killed him. He's told me he would willingly sacrifice himself if that's what it takes to snap Zeus out of it, but he resists, because he knows Zeus would realize what he did and then take out his grief on the rest of the world. Anyway, if you do talk to Hades, tell him about this phenomenon. The darkness isn't something I recognize. It might be a vengeful spirit? Maybe something Hades knows about?

"Yeah. Definitely," Nico agrees.

"Before you go …" Zephyros turns back to the blurred images on the bed, a smile playing on his lips. "These memories, the ones I'd lost. Ganymede keeps a record of all the old Hephaestus TV shows." He chuckles. "Apparently Apollo and I thought we were being discreet, and the rest of the gods allowed us our fun. Unbeknownst to us, we were stars of a daytime soap opera. I didn't mean to assault you with this …" He waves his hand vaguely at the blurry shapes. "But when I saw the record, my memories came back. You might be able to get your memories back, maybe even your powers if you talk to the people about the missing moments. Use the record of their memories to get yours back. It's a thought."

Warmth floods Nico's body. It's more than just heat, it's gratitude. Zephyros just handed him more help than any other encounter he'd ever had with another god, and suddenly, Nico thinks a simple 'thank you' falls far short of what he owes. "I, uh. Thanks. I don't know if I'll ever be able to …"

Zephyros opens his eyes wide as if realizing what Nico's trying to say, then breaks into a huge smile. "No thanks is necessary, Nico. This is me, repaying a kindness to you, not the other way around."

"Huh?"

"I told you in Split. Remember Diocletian's cellar? I've been watching you. I met you as a small boy, and several times since? I thought it was because you were destined to meet my master, and you were, but that wasn't the whole story. I talked to you a lot in the place without time. You were always going on about some new show or game and it was nice to spend time with someone who just wanted to share their excitement and didn't have an ulterior motive."

"You visited me in the Lotus Casino?" Nico's heart twists, and Zephyros's face from the past lights up his brain like plugging in a light string on a Christmas tree. The indignation he was going for falls flat as he stares, seeing Zephyros in a new light, one of innocence and friendship. "The thing…" he stammers, "… works, I think. The memories. You said it, and I remember."

Zephyros boops him on the nose, like he had in those days. "More than that, Nico. Even when you didn't remember, you told me I was obsessed with Apollo. I didn't believe it at first, but it got me to pay attention again. Then you talked to Apollo about me. And I think it's because of you that we had a chance to find each other again and heal from old hurts. I think we've got our scales balanced as far as favors goes."

Nico thinks so too. He's about ready to say as much but the air shimmers like mist over water, dissolving the room and the dream along with it.

XxxX

Instead of waking, Nico's consciousness flies outside of his control – pulled by a powerful summons – a speeding blur of color through a wasteland of grey. When he reaches the source, his vision spins. He clasps his hands over his ears, staring straight ahead and waiting for his mind to catch up with this new dream.

"Oh. Sorry to pull you off course, but I … Are you okay? You look different."

Nico watches the blur of color pass, turning in circles around his head, finally slowing down as his mind settles back inside his head. The blob in front of him comes into focus. First five images of the same concerned face, then three until finally settling into one whole pasty-faced boy with big brown eyes.

"It's fine," Nico says, gritting his teeth. "I got cut off from my Underworld powers, but I think I may be on the right track to get them back."

He doesn't mention that dream-travel seems to be one of them, and that he has zero control of himself in the dream world. Getting pulled off course has to be the understatement of the century. It's more like he's a puppet on strings, at the mercy of other dreamers and if they decide to frolic and swing him around a little going from one puppet theatre to another, he's along for the ride without safety restraints or anything to keep him together as a whole.

"Oh?" Clovis asks, drawing the word out. If he were any person other than Clovis, Nico would be afraid he had just realized how much power over Nico he'd just happened upon. In the wrong hands, Nico's sanity would be in jeopardy. "That sucks. I'll keep my eyes open for news about that. Haven't heard anything about it so far. The gods are mostly quiet. A lot of them hiding out around here, trying to lie low and pretend they're here because they want to be."

That is news Nico does not want to hear. He suspects, after hearing what Zephyros had to say about Zeus, that the more the gods hide from him, Zeus will turn his attention and his wrath even more onto the demigods and mortals. "What did you want to tell me? I'm supposed to be on a quest. I don't even know how long I've been sleeping or if it's even safe for me to be asleep right now."

"Oh, right," Clovis says, pulling his blanket up to his chin in his customary armchair. "I promised Will I'd watch out for Lou Ellen and Cecil. And tonight, something happened. A visitor." He shivers, his face trying and failing to show fear. "I think you should see it. Rachel Elizabeth Dare spoke another prophecy. I think it has to do with your quest –" he yawns, his breath sickly sweet, making Nico wrinkle his nose – but I'm not sure. You should just watch and –"

"Yes," Nico snaps. "Fine. Show me. And then I have got to wake up."

Clovis nods. Nico grips his knees, his eyes squeezed shut as the memory replaces the dream, and he's again at the mercy of spinning colors and traversing minds.

XxxX

When he opens his eyes at last, Nico's stomach swoops and he tightens his grip on Will, hugging him around the waist. He feels Will's voice vibrate under his cheek, chuckling, he thinks, but he doesn't mind if Will laughs at him for holding on tight while the pegasus descends. Besides, as high up as they'd been flying, Nico's skin is freezing. Will, on the other hand, radiates warmth. Nico would be an idiot to not take advantage of having a hot boyfriend. He buries his face in Will's back and breathes in his tropical scent, sending warm waves of arousal throughout his whole body. Unbidden, the memory of Apollo and Zephyros from ages ago enters his mind, not that he finds it hot – rather, he does, and would prefer not to think about people he knows like that – but because it reminds him of a promise he needs to keep. If gods like Apollo and Zephyros, sickeningly in love, can have their memories of their relationship taken from them without realizing it, and human lives are already fragile, even more so on a quest where each day might be their last, then Nico should give Will an answer right away. Waiting to tell him he's in it for the long haul, or at least willing to give it a try would be wasting precious time they could enjoy with each other.

Porkpie lands beside a lake, making Nico's stomach lurch, and when Nico's feet touch solid ground again, he grasps just how little time they actually have.

Will dismounts and digs around in his backpack, withdrawing one of the pocket-sized tents the hunters of Artemis use.

"After the past couple of days," Will says, tossing the square in the center of a grove of trees, the tent springing up fully formed, "I think we can spare six or seven hours to rest."

Nico doesn't argue, and when Will lifts the tent flap for Nico to enter first, he pulls Will in along with him, fastening his body to Will's, landing them both on the sleeping bags and kissing him within an inch of his life, grateful to be together.


	27. Chapter 27

**smut warning for this chapter**

Light in Your Eyes, Heat in My Heart

Nico

Kissing Will, his lips wet, plump, insistent, feels like coming home. Connecting with him, even if it's a simple wave or a raised eyebrow when Will has a busy day and Nico doesn't want to interrupt, makes his whole day. Nico recalls having had this realization the night before he woke to find time had skipped ahead two years. The way Will's mouth fits Nico's, the way he generates enough warmth to heat them both – Nico wonders if he really has found a home. Perhaps the fates had woven his life the way they had to help him escape the time period he'd been born into, to jump him far enough ahead to align him with Will.

His cheeks burn at his own sappy thoughts, so lost in them, he doesn't notice Will pulling away until he gets to his feet.

Nico looks up at him, squinting when Will turns on a string of lights edging the tent. When had it gotten so late?

Will chuckles. "I don't know about you, di Angelo, but after being on a pegasus all freaking day, I need to piss, take a shower, and get something to eat. Back in few, 'kay?"

Nico waves him away, his cheeks on fire. He can't help it. Combine his hormones firing at random whenever Will is around with the embarrassment of having fallen asleep while riding a pegasus and not realizing the entire day had passed – he'd rather compose himself than have Will make his blush even worse by pointing it out and calling it cute.

He's even more grateful the tent is equipped with a bathroom, and that Will is safely out of earshot when his stomach makes his hunger known. More than a growl, it full on roars, and Nico gets up to check out what the magical buffet table has to offer. He fetches a sandwich and a mug of fresh water, his mind drifting back to the time he'd spent traveling with Reyna and Coach Hedge. The hunters had gifted Reyna with a tent like this. Back then, he'd hated it because it had come from them. He'd thought of the hunters as sister-stealers, and even now, his heart twinges as he recalls Bianca. He wonders about the prophecy he'd witnessed in the memory Clovis shared with him. _Unite the siblings forgotten by time._ He shakes his head at himself. It couldn't refer to him and Bianca, not now. She's moved on to a new life, her memories of their life together permanently erased.

He splits what's left of his sandwich in two and places half on the silver brazier at the center of the table, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Artemis, and, at the last second, to Hestia. The brazier erupts in enchanted silver flames, consuming the offering and dissipating as fast as they had appeared. He's ready to let that old grudge go.

XxxX

Refreshed after a quick shower and shave, hunger satisfied, Nico wraps a towel around his waist, and returns to the sleeping bags.

Will has them laid out like a bed for two and sits cross-legged on top, munching an apple and digging around in his doctor's bag. A bath towel draped over his knees is the only thing covering him. He grins when Nico drops down beside him.

"Feel better?" Will asks, and when Nico nods, he looks around a couple of seconds like he's lost something, then pulls a plastic sack from his bag and stashes his apple core inside it.

Nico lies down on his side, trying to control his racing heart as Will follows him, and automatically curls his body along Nico's side, warming him, his heart pounding like crazy. "This is cozy," Nico says, yawning to cover his nerves. "Where'd you get one of the hunter's tents?"

Will runs a hand over Nico's chest, then presses a kiss to the spot behind Nico's ear, making him shiver. "Artemis is my dad's twin. She gives us presents on our birthdays."

Nico screws up his face, not sure if Will is kidding with him or not. He looks back over his shoulder, ready to snark back, but instead his heart thuds faster. The intensity in Will's gaze sets him burning all over again.

His stomach swoops as he recalls what he'd wanted to say after his talk with Zephyros, not sure how best to bring it up. He traces Will's hand on his chest, sinking into the warm embrace. Will yawns.

"You should sleep," Nico says, not quite able to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

_Stupid! You were supposed to tell him you have an answer. What happened to seizing the precious moments in life?_

"I, uh – may have drifted off for a bit during our flight. I drooled all over my backpack."

Will's voice is quiet, embarrassed, but the admission lifts Nico's mood in an instant. He faces forward, his back to Will, hiding a smile. "You're lucky you didn't fall off and drag me with you." He's teasing, mostly. It serves Will right for always getting on Nico's case about pulling dangerous stunts.

"You're right," Will says, bucking up against Nico's butt, his breath hot on the back of Nico's neck. "But I'm not too tired for lazy sex, if you're up for it."

Heat pours over Nico, running from his scalp, across his cheeks and spreading down his chest. The phrase 'lazy sex' seems to act as a keyword, unlocking a flood of memories. They had come up with the term 'lazy sex' to describe doing it while spooning, one of their go-to positions as it takes less energy than an intense session of trying new positions, is effective at drawing the experience out if they want to last, and is the perfect position for falling asleep immediately afterwards.

Nico's heart thuds in his chest, expanding as Will makes invisible trails of _want_ chase across Nico's skin, brushing his fingertips over Nico's stomach. Nico recalls the times they'd spent talking – about their day, about lunch, about anything and nothing – while having lazy sex. A small, domestic sort of intimacy that allowed them to reconnect after a long day when time was short.

He rolls partly onto his back, twisting at the waist, and slips his arm behind Will's neck. He brushes their lips together, rolling his hips back against Will's groin. Nico's thoughts chase each other around in his brain as they kiss, all the things he wants to say.

Slowly, steadily, they take it deeper, tongues tickling teeth, exploring mouths, breaths growing shorter. Nico shifts his hips, his free hand pushing their towels out of the way, drinking Will's quiet moans, and savoring the heat of bare skin against skin. He pours what he wants to say into his lips, goosebumps canvassing his skin as Will holds him close.

_I want us to last. I want to live with you; find a place to call ours, a bedroom that is ours, a bed that is ours. I want to feel you like this every night as I fall asleep, and wake up knowing you'll still be here. I want us to hit milestone anniversaries, to see you get your degree, to hear you insist you've earned your doctor's title and to tell me I can't tease you about it anymore. I want to visit your mom's house again, and to not see her trying to hide her surprise that we're still together. I. Want. You._

Nico halts his mind, distracted by Will's fingers prodding his perineum, then lifts his leg to give Will more room to move. He breathes deeply, breaking the kiss, lost in Will's eyes. The blue appears almost purple in the glow from string of dim lights. Will bites his lower lip as he slips his hand lower, pushing up against Nico's hole with the balljoint of his thumb. He lifts an eyebrow, tilting his head and Nico reads the question he's asking without words. _You okay with doing it this way tonight?_

Nico agrees with a slow nod and a sigh. Then Will ducks down, and rolls Nico onto his stomach.

Following Will's guiding touches, Nico tucks his knees up and to the sides, his stiff cock brushing the slippery sleeping bag material and making him shiver. His back is cold, his ass, too; propped up and exposed to the air while Will rustles with something behind him.

Nico nuzzles the cushioned bag, cooling his hot cheek, his hands at the top seam. He grunts as Will pushes his butt even higher with his warm hands. Nico stutters his breaths at the first slick swipe of Will's tongue, clenching the sleeping bag seam in his fists.

He really could do this for life, grow old with a hot boyfriend. One willing to do whatever it takes and more to get Nico off, equally ready to be pliant and receptive when Nico wants. Is that enough? Are they even old enough to think about being together for life? How long of a life will they even have? He pushes the irritating thoughts away. The truth is that neither of them can really know what the future might bring, and if people can talk about Annabeth and Percy making a long term go of it, then their youth shouldn't have a damn place in the equation for him and Will.

Tucking his chin, Nico pushes his forehead against the sleeping bag, arching his back and relaxing his muscles. Opening himself up, he wills his body to soften, pliable as warm butter under Will's mouth, his wriggling tongue. He moans into the sleeping bag, sparks prickling under his skin as every nerve in his body seems to wake at once. "I want to come …" he starts to say, gasping as Will finds and teases a sensitive spot.

Will chuckles, sending vibrations reverberating through Nico's bones, and then pulls back.

Nico's face burns red hot as he realizes how Will would interpret that, that he screwed up what he'd been trying to say, but Will only pats his legs and guides Nico to lie flat on his stomach. Will wraps Nico's backside in a full body hug and rolls them into a spooning position. "You want to come already?" Will asks, his voice quivering, aroused.

Nico grunts, trapped in Will's embrace as Will's dick nudges between his thighs, driving him mad. "You distracted me mid-sentence," Nico complains, then falls silent a moment while Will paints the back of his neck with kisses. He decides to go ahead and finish his sentence. "I want to come _with you_ to – to Oregon – at the end of the summer."

Slackening his hold, Will props himself with his elbow, and Nico shifts, lying halfway on his back again. Their eyes meet in the low light, and Will seems to have lost the ability to speak. He stares at Nico, dumbfounded.

Nico rolls his eyes, then gives Will a wicked smirk, wriggling back against Will and creating friction between his legs. It seems to help Will find his voice again, at least. Will lowers himself back down, answering Nico's eager hips with slow drags of his dick along the crease of Nico's ass. His lips on the backside of Nico's neck, breathing his words more than speaking them, Will punctuates what he says with more kisses.

"I love you …" **kiss** "… so much." **kiss**

Nico aches, needing to be even closer, to really unite. He spots Will's doctor's bag at the edge of the sleeping bag and grabs it, straining with the effort to reach it and not move out of position. He passes it to Will, who takes it without question, opening it in front of Nico's chest and rummaging a moment, nuzzling up and down Nico's neck and behind his ear.

Nico closes his eyes, surrendering himself, and nearly crying out in relief when Will's lube-slick fingers begin rubbing his rim. Breathing a sigh as they breach, he trades kisses with Will, bumping noses, their breath mingling.

"Tell me, Nico – what life will be like. You and me. I want to hear you talk," Will says. He slips his fingers free, pulling back to fumble with something out of Nico's line of sight. He returns in half a moment, draping himself along Nico's back again, and then taking Nico's erection in his lube-slicked hand.

Lost in the loose slide of Will's grip, in the careful caress of tongues on teeth, the brushing of soft lips, the blunt pressure at his backside, Nico imagines their future together. He gasps at the first stretch of Will pushing inside, drinking comfort from Will's kisses as he adjusts, and then keening in the back of his throat at the relief as Will slides in all the way, the serenity of being filled.

Taking it slow, languid, Nico relaxes completely. The soft heat Will puts off surrounding him, filling him inside and out, Nico meets Will's gaze and his heart explodes. When he speaks, his words come out breathily, coaxed from his throat as if by reflex to fulfill Will's request.

"We'll have a place …" he breathes, "an apartment, or dorm, or maybe rent a small house …"

Will pulls Nico closer, all the way on his side, and curls up around him as if melding with his body, becoming a second skin. He pumps his hips, moving them together so slowly, so gently, it's hard for Nico to determine where he ends and Will begins, or even if the sensations he experiences are his own or Will's.

"Mhm," Will murmurs, his cheek at Nico's cheek. "Then what?"

Warm to the point of delirium, the kind that brings daydreams and idling away tedious hours, Nico answers without thought, without second guessing himself, trusting his own penchant for honesty, and unburdened by the filter he uses with others.

"We'd shower together in the mornings," Nico says, stopping to gasp as Will hits him at just the right angle. "There. Right like that." He raises his top leg, relieved when Will takes over supporting it with a hand behind the knee, keeping his thrusts slow and lazy. Nico continues. "I'd have a – a job, or maybe take classes, too …" He wraps his hand around his cock, lubing himself with the string of precome hanging from the tip. He feels perfectly at ease, his body in tune with Will's, their movements well practiced. "After you get your degree, we'll find a house. Decide – ah, – which state we want to live in. Where you can do your residency."

Will speeds up, his breaths coming harsher against Nico's cheek, his grip behind Nico's leg slick with sweat.

"And –" Nico starts again. He pauses when his voice turns into a moan, pleasure pooling in his gut, his balls aching to come. "I don't know what you'd imagine our life would be like, but…" Another moan steals his words, and he ceases stroking himself, not wanting to come before he's ready.

Will kisses Nico's cheek, then trails kisses to the ridge of Nico's shoulder, finally touching his forehead to the base of Nico's neck. His breath huffs hotly over Nico's skin. "Tell me how you imagine it, see how our visions of the future match up."

Nico chuckles, and Will's body goes rigid, still. Nico recognizes the reaction. Will must be close to climaxing. The thought makes Nico grin, and he strokes himself again, allowing the pleasure to build up, not trying to stop it. "I – I know it's early to talk about, that it might not work out, that we might have to wait a long time … but … I think eventually …" It's too hard to say it out loud, his faraway dream, one he'd had since he was a young boy playacting with his sister.

Will hums a low, soft melody, his cheek pressed to Nico's back, the vibrations resonating through Nico's skin and muscles. Will quickens the pacing of his thrusts, along with his melody, brushing Nico's prostate until his climax is imminent. "Tell me, Nico. Please, I'm close," Will whispers, then resumes humming.

Realizing he sounds cheesy as hell, but deciding not to care about it now, Nico confesses. His foreskin slipping over the head of his cock and back as he holds on beneath it, allowing the force of Will's thrusts to send him over the edge.

"I want kids," he says. The first time he's said it out loud since he was a child. "I want us to be parents." He chokes on the last words, teetering on the brink. His orgasm hits, dragging him under when Will swears, and pumps deep inside him. He tries to go even deeper, rolling Nico onto his stomach, covering his body and getting as close as two people possibly can. Nico finishes pressed into the sleeping bag, likely making a huge mess. If he were in any other state of mind, he might complain at having his orgasm so rudely interrupted, and then to be forced to lie in the wet spot, but right now, as he listens to Will catch his breath, his weight crushing Nico to the point his lungs feel tight; Nico simply savors the moment.

XxxX

He startles when Will moves, his back suddenly exposed to the cold air. He'd nearly fallen asleep underneath Will, wearing him like a blanket. Nico shivers and turns his head, finding Will lying on his back, half sitting up and grimacing as he ties a knot in the condom. It recalls to Nico's mind that he'd meant to ask Will about the previous night. _Meh, I'll ask him later._

"Hey," Nico says softly. He should move soon, should climb under the top sleeping bag and get warm again, but moving feels like too much of a hassle.

Will smiles at him after discarding the condom. He runs his warm palm over Nico's back, sending shocks of residual pleasure racing through Nico's nerves. "You want to be daddies with me," Will says, his eyes dancing, his tone playfully teasing.

Nico raises an eyebrow as if to say, _Yeah? And?_

His Adam's apple bobbing, Will swallows. He wets his lips and scoots closer, keeping his voice a whisper. "I think that's the hottest thing ever." His eyes shine, half-lidded, as if he's been drinking and has reached the golden moment, when all is right with the world. He sharpens his gaze, though his posture remains relaxed, brushing warmly over Nico's back, petting him. "In this future you see for us, are we going to get married or are we, you know – " He drops his voice and wags his eyebrows. "– gonna be _living in sin_?"

He's teasing, Nico knows it, but the question only raises more in Nico's mind. He wrinkles his forehead. "Is marriage between two guys allowed? I didn't think we had an option."

Will drops his teasing leer, his eyes growing rounder, like he's just realizing Nico's question is serious, disappointment radiating off of him, from the turn of his lips, the crease in his brow.

Nico faces him, waiting, not sure he's liking the way the conversation is playing out.

His discontent must show on his face because Will changes tack immediately. "I'm not …" he starts, stopping at once, and blowing his bangs out of his eyes. It looks like he's talking himself out of being stupid. "Sorry. I forgot about the memory thing, the time skip. It's just, marriage equality has become a hot topic lately, across the whole country, and you and I have been following it the past year and half. As of right now, after our birthdays, we could get married in Washington, and like five other states. I really hope Oregon will legalize it soon, I mean honestly, the whole country ought to. But I don't doubt that by the time we're ready for these someday 'future' kids, we should be able to get married in any state."

Nico's mind reels as recent memories flood his consciousness, vivid and intact, as if Will had just whipped off a sheet that was keeping them hidden, and then turned on the lights.

"I – I remember," Nico says, half to himself. The advice Zephyros gave him seems to be working. His heart races, even more questions rising in his mind; he misses something Will says to him, and has to backtrack. "What? Sorry … I had a dream, it just … I'll tell you about it in a bit. What'd you say?"

Will's smile lights up as if from within. He scoots closer, their chests meeting, their legs tangling. "I asked if that was a yes. Do you want to get married?"

_Heat. Hot. Fire._ That's how Nico's body reacts to Will's question. He must be glowing like the coals in a campfire at night, he blushes so hard.

"Uh …" he starts, going even redder. "For the future, right?" _Great, stammering. Pull it together di Angelo. Oh my gods, is he really asking this?_ "I mean –" It's hard to catch his breath. The ground under him seems to be spinning, or maybe it's the tent above. "I want to before we have kids, but now … I'm not ready?" _Great. What's the matter with you? It's a statement, not a question!_

Will smiles even wider, then leans in and steadies the world, anchoring Nico with a deep kiss.

They break apart, noses touching, foreheads close. "I'm not ready either. But I do want to marry you someday and I promise, if I end up being the one who proposes, I won't do it like this. It'll be a grand, formal gesture in private, that you'll see coming and will have ample opportunity to run away from if you need to, and nobody else has to know."

Nico's heart melts. He's well aware that Will just basically told him that, when it comes to emotions, Nico's stunted and afraid. But the fact that he would think of doing something like that, that he wants to do it in a way that won't make Nico freak out … _Stupid son of Apollo._ Nico swears to himself that when they're ready, _he_ will be the one to propose.

Will makes a face, an unpleasant one, his eyes shifting down and then back up. "I'm in the wet spot now."

Nico giggles. Full on schoolboy giggling. His boyfriend is such a dork.

Giving Nico's hip a gentle smack, Will rolls onto his back, then climbs to his feet. He picks up their towels. "Gonna wet one of these and get us cleaned up. Be right back."


	28. Chapter 28

The Walls Keep Tumbling Down

Nico

Pressing his cheek against Will's chest, his body thrumming with post-coital endorphins, Nico listens to the steady rhythm of Will's heartbeat and succumbs to the heavy pull of sleep, a smile on his lips.

XxxX

A roar fills Nico's ears, his mind – deep, guttural, and all consuming. He can't see, the darkness surrounding him, so thick it could be solid, and then it speaks, sending a chill like an electric shock, racing through his nerves.

"You are ready?" the darkness asks, surprisingly gentle, feminine, coating the terrifying power in softness like satin lining a marble coffin.

Nico's heart speeds up, thundering in his consciousness like the drums of war. He tries to blink, to back away, to distance himself from the darkness in order to see it from a scale he can understand, but the struggle is fruitless. He can't even see his own body, can hardly even feel where it begins and ends. It reminds him of the sensation of shadow travel, of becoming one with the shadows, losing his substance, at risk of becoming a shadow himself forever.

The cold shock doesn't let up; it spreads, and it's all Nico can do to hold onto his wits. He's felt this before, the sensation of never-ending dark, of losing track of who he is and being reduced to a state of pure instinctual panic, the realization one is doomed and that nothing can change it, but instead of finding relief through death, the instant is prolonged indefinitely. Pure torture. Never-ending. Life in Tartarus. The curtain of mind-boggling darkness shifts making the dim glow of the Underworld – deep reds, blues, purples – seem blindingly bright before his vision adjusts. Nico finally finds his bearings. His father stands at the edge of the pit, the gaping maw that leads to Tartarus, looking down into it. His robes cling to the backside of his lithe frame, whipping around his front as if sucked into the vacuum, the merciless pull that Tartarus wields. Yet Hades stands motionless, his pale profile glowing against the dark backdrop, his frown as deep as his furrowed eyebrows.

Nico shifts his focus back to the darkness, his vision climbing, landing at last on pinpricks of light swirling deep in the folds of a giant dress, above it, a bodice, and then on the face of Nyx herself. The only feature he can make out are her eyes, twinkling and spreading like quasars, winking out when she blinks, then shining even brighter, distorting the light into points like a cross made of dagger blades.

His breath catches in his throat, dizziness making his vision blur even more. Only Nyx's voice breaks the spell and allows him to breathe again, his lungs screaming as they drag in the stagnant Underworld air.

"It it time. My children report that he will break the surface of the ocean floor in less than a day's time."

Hades nods, his frown growing even deeper as he stares into the dark abscess. "My own children no longer respond to my summons," he says, his deep voice sounding small next to the endless drone from the pit. His shoulders seem to sag as he catches his balance with his arms, and takes a step backwards.

Nico tries to call out to him, but finds he has no voice. Even though he can feel his body, it seems to exist on a plane separate from his father and the events unfolding before his eyes. Panic rises inside him again, his eyes burning as he can't close what doesn't exist here. He wonders if this is how it feels to be transformed into a statue, still aware, and yet unable to move or to have any influence on the living world.

The scent of flowers, of dried potpourri, of autumn, surrounds him like a warm blanket, tamping down his fear. Before he has a chance to consider where it comes from, light like a flash grenade flares up not ten feet from him and Hades turns, taking deliberate and slow steps away from the edge of the pit.

Hermes brushes dust from his bare arms, his sleeves ripped off at the shoulders, his shirt, hanging off his back in tatters. His suit pants are still intact, but coated and smudged with dirt and ash. He carries an iron cattle prod, sparking with blue lightning between its tips. He hovers a foot above the ground, the wings on his sandals and hat, working overtime against the pull of the pit.

"Lord Hades," Hermes says, his voice sounds like it's caught between despair and determination. "There is another issue. You cannot go into Tartarus now."

Hades scowls, his black eyes colder than ever, malevolent. "I must. There is no other option."

Hermes continues as if he hadn't heard Hades's response. "The fields of Asphodel have broken open. A cave in, an earthquake, whatever it was … I think that as Tartarus rises, the Earth grows less stable, but the reason isn't important now. My point is that souls are pouring out of the Underworld. They're returning to the land above."

Hades, his voice like murder, demands in a whispered hiss: "Where is Thanatos? He is not chained again?"

Hermes shakes his head and swallows hard. "He's sending them back as fast as he can; I have been, too. They're still dead, as far as we can tell. The mortals don't seem to notice them yet, but for the ones with the sight …" He trails off, then seems to pull himself together again. "Until we shore up the breech, they'll keep pouring out. It's too much for us to handle on our own. We need help. Olympus has the power if only they'd listen. I want to go to Apollo, convince him to force father to see reason. Dionysus and I would have his back, the three of us–"

"No!" Hades bellows. His face grows tight, his eyes even darker, as black as Nyx. Hermes touches down, the wings on his hat and sandals still working to keep him from Tartarus's pull. He sinks under Hades's glare until Hades holds up a hand to demonstrate his anger isn't personally aimed at Hermes. "I haven't been able to reach my children. I need you to go to them, find out why they haven't responded to my calls. You, along with them and Thanatos can shore up the breeches and return the dead to the Underworld. I must go to Zeus. I am the eldest brother and I must meet him face to face. Tartarus cannot be held back any longer. Soon, the whole world will be consumed and only a person of comparable power can convince Zeus to see the truth."

Nyx releases a long and drawn out sigh. It travels through the ground under Nico's feet; he can feel her exasperation. She seems almost amused by Hades's declaration, like she's rolling her eyes. "Very well," she says. "I will take on Tartarus myself. You had better be ready to pick up the slack on the other side or we shall both lose everything."

Nico's eyes grow wide with awe as his father draws his sword, flashing it. The color drains from Hermes's face as he follows the Stygian iron with his eyes. He bows his head in deference.

The warm scent behind Nico seems to wrap around him, pulling him backwards away from the scene, Hades and Hermes growing smaller until he can't make them out any longer. But instead of fighting to stay, Nico is glad to escape. If he never has to see the pit of Tartarus again, to never feel its pull, he would accept anything.

"Your father does not know your powers have been hidden. I did not know myself until you prayed to me." Nico holds his breath, understanding hitting him. Persephone is the only reason he was allowed this glimpse. "If you have true need, understanding this truth will lift the Mist veiling your powers. Go now and find a way. I cannot interfere any further."

Nico's mind spins as if he was a top Persephone set into motion and sent back into his body with a flick from her sharply pointed fingers.

XxxX

Nico sits up gasping, cold trickles of sweat sliding from under his hair and down his back. He meets Will's blue eyes, wild with fear, as Will crouches beside him, having just shoved Nico's feet into his shoes. The tent is gone, their backpacks at Nico's feet, and Porkpie whinnies in the purple mist of morning along the edge of the forest.

"What's happening?" Nico demands as Will grabs Nico's wrist and pulls him up.

"No time. We have to go. Now. I'll explain in the air."

Nico wants to resist, to tell Will to slow down, to explain things now, but he's well aware that when questing, getting out of immediate danger trumps slowing down. He climbs onto Porkpie's back behind Will, and holds onto Will's waist as the pegasus charges down the shoreline of the lake, finally lifting off with a stomach-sinking swoop.

Nico can feel Will shaking under his hands, like he's having trouble holding it together, about ready to fall apart at the seams. He doesn't like the sensation it gives him, too similar to the panic he had just experienced himself.

Once Porkpie reaches the cloud line, he levels out, and Nico demands to know what has Will so spooked. He keeps his hands from freezing by tucking them under Will's shirt, and pressing them against Will's stomach. "What happened? Where are we going?"

Nico can feel Will's heart through his stomach; it's beating so hard he's surprised when Will's voice comes out sounding steady.

"I – I don't normally have prophetic dreams," he says, making Nico raise his eyebrows. "I know it's weird. With Apollo being the god of prophecy and all, most people assume that his children all have access to his foresight. But in reality, it's usually other demigods, or mortals who have the sight, like Rachel, that can access that part of him. Most demigods have dreams and nightmares that show them monsters, their futures, but I don't."

"O-kay?" Nico says. He's not sure why Will feels the need to confess this right now. It doesn't have any bearing on the question he'd asked.

"I just had one, a prophetic dream. Gods, Nico." Will's whole body trembles under Nico's hands, shaking like a leaf. Nico presses himself against Will's back, tucking his elbows into Will's sides to keep him from falling off the pegasus. "We're heading to Las Vegas. I know where Lou Ellen is. In my dream, I saw her …" Nico's blood runs cold, understanding hitting him like a snowball to the face. "… at the Lotus Casino. She's in trouble."

The words of Rachel's prophecy tumble around Nico's mind, clarity washing away confusion. "No! Stop! Porkpie, Stop!" Nico yells.

_Victory if the charge resonates from the West. Eastern seeds sown will reap tears and new death._

The pegasus lurches mid-flight, and Nico tightens his grip on the pegasus with his thighs as Will slips to one side. Nico digs his fingers into Will's waistband, clamping his belt and keeping him up out of sheer stubbornness as Porkpie descends so fast it steals Nico's breath.

"No, Will," Nico shouts when he catches his breath, his voice, hoarse. "We can't. Death waits for us on this path."

Will struggles against Nico's grip, shouting back. "It doesn't matter. All quests carry that risk. We can't just leave her! It's my fault! All my fault …"

Nico holds onto Will even more tightly. He half-hopes his grip will be tight enough to make Will pass out and stop fighting back. They need to talk reasonably, and right now Will isn't making any sense. Nico wants to kick himself for not telling Will about the new prophecy immediately after hearing it, or at least before they fell asleep. He only hopes whichever Fate is watching them, won't count the last half-hour as them charging out to the Lotus Casino instead of towards the Underworld.

Porkpie hovers over a grove of oak trees, apparently looking for a spot to set down, and Will finally stops struggling, his heart racing against Nico's chest, beating so hard it feels like it's trying to break free. Nico relaxes his hold, and presses a kiss to the back of Will's neck. Will answers with a reassuring squeeze to Nico's arm as Porkpie flies over the dense grove, speeding up as a green clearing comes into view.

Nico breathes in a sigh of relief, and the rest happens before he can release it.

Porkpie's back hoof catches in a gnarled branch, sending Nico and Will lurching forward, and then it's just Nico straddling the pegasus's back, a glint of blond hair disappearing over the side. In half a second, Nico shifts into the nearest shadow, stepping free at the base of one of the oaks, mere feet from Will – his blue eyes vacant, his limbs at odd angles.

Nico stares, unable to comprehend what he's seeing until a face rises behind Will, dark as teakwood, dark blue and purple wings folding around Will's body, as the god of death embraces him.

"Thanatos!" Nico screams as skeletal bodies and grinning skulls claw their way free of the earth. The god turns his amber gaze upon Nico, and then he grins.


	29. Chapter 29

_Nico stares, unable to comprehend what he's seeing until a face rises behind Will, dark as teakwood, dark blue and purple wings folding around Will's body, as the god of death embraces him._

_"Thanatos!" Nico screams as skeletal bodies and grinning skulls claw their way free of the earth. The god turns his amber gaze upon Nico, and then he grins._

The Person Falling Here Is Me

Nico

Nico thrums with his restored powers, his vision narrowing on the gleam of pure white teeth as the glen grows dark around them. Nico calls out with every ounce of his will, the shadows and the dead rising in answer to his summons. He draws his sword and points it at the god. He has nothing left to lose – either conquering Death or being conquered by him. The state of the world no longer matters.

The god laughs, a low and deep rumble that shakes the ground beneath Nico's feet, disrupting his concentration.

Nico has known Thanatos for many years. He's worked with him in service to his father, trained with him in the year after dispatching Dedalus. The death god has never laughed in Nico's presence before, never shown an inkling of even possessing a sense of humor. Nico furrows his brow as the god lifts his wings and holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. Will has disappeared.

"Who are you?" Nico demands, seething. "Impersonating Thanatos is a crime worthy of Tartarus!" His sword hand glows with a purple light, his breath steadying as his Underworld powers swell, adding weight to his authority.

The god rises from his kneeling position, narrowing his eyes, and Nico has to dig in his heels against the pushback of power the god sends his way.

"Oh no! Wait! Hold up!" another voice says, huffing and puffing as if the speaker is out of breath and running. "Nico, it's okay. It's my dad!"

Nico doesn't recognize the voice until Clovis pushes his way through a Mist barrier. Nico glances at Clovis's pale face, his huge brown eyes, his hair flattened on one side and sticking out in crazy tufts on the other, then looks back at the amusement on the god's face. Understanding hits him.

"Hypnos," he mutters, another thought jumpstarting his heart and chasing away his vitriol. Hypnos is the god of sleep, twin brother to Thanatos. "Is Will still alive?"

The god lifts his eyes skywards, but Nico doesn't even care. Instead, he looks at Clovis eagerly bobbing his head. Nico lowers his sword, the fight leaving him.

"Sorry, Nico," Clovis says. "It was the fastest way I could think of to help you get your powers back, and my dad said it wasn't too much trouble."

Hypnos hums under his breath, his nostrils flaring. Clovis turns to his father, his eyes so huge and sad, his lips pouting; he gives his father the best impression of a kicked puppy Nico has ever seen, and the god of sleep ruffles Clovis's hair, and then fades from view.

"My powers," Nico says, realizing that he has them back. "Oh gods, they're back. How can I thank –"

Clovis turns his head at an angle, a finger held up before his lips, like he's listening to something. "Don't worry about it. You need to wake up now, though, if you want to stop all this from actually happening."

Nico blinks. What in Hades is Clovis talking about? Stop it from …

The world disappears as Clovis snaps his fingers.

XxxX

Nico sits up gasping, cold trickles of sweat sliding from under his hair and down his back, but this time, he's still in the tent. He looks over at Will, watching his lips move as he sleeps, his chest rise and fall.

_Thank the gods. It's not too late._

"Whaaaaaa!" Will shouts, making Nico's heart jump into his throat as Will sits bolt upright, staring all around the tent as if he's not sure where he is.

Nico recovers quickly. He pulls Will into a hug, more relieved to feel the weight of Will's arms on his back than he can even understand. He buries his face into Will's neck and blinks tears from his eyes, hardly noticing them. "It's okay. Just a dream."

Will shudders against Nico's chest, dragging in shaky sounding breaths, but he doesn't let go or try to push Nico away.

"I – I don't normally have prophetic dreams, Nico, but –"

Nico cuts him off. "I know. Lou Ellen. The Lotus Casino."

Will tenses, then relaxes in Nico's arms, and Nico smothers a smile against Will's shoulder when Will presses a kiss to his cheek. "You had the dream too? We have to help her, Nico. It's on the way West."

Nico takes a deep breath, strokes the back of Will's hair and down his neck, then pushes himself back enough to look Will in the eye. "Listen to me. Before we do anything, I need to tell you about a new prophecy. Rachel spoke it yesterday evening, and Clovis showed it to me in a dream as we were flying here. It's important you hear me out, understand?"

Will nods, and Nico can't stop himself from kissing him. He pushes Will back onto the sleeping bags, relieved beyond words when Will returns the kiss, his lips warm and very much alive. When Nico is satisfied that won't change anytime soon, he breaks the kiss, and – foreheads touching and arms embracing – recounts the dreams about Rachel and Zephyros.

XxxX

"So we can't do it since we're coming from the East," Will says, processing what Nico has just told him.

Nico hums his agreement. He stares into Will's blue eyes, as lost in them as ever, especially as the sun rises outside the tent and brightens their sleeping space. "I don't doubt Lou Ellen is at the Lotus Casino. I have no idea why she would be there, but it's entirely possible that she is in trouble. There should be a quest to help her, but it has to come from Camp Jupiter, not us."

Will looks back at Nico, his eyes softening, brow furrowing like he senses something wrong. "You all right?"

Nico's throat hurts as he swallows, but that hardly matters. He nods. "Yeah. I'm good. And I've got my powers back."

Will wrinkles his forehead, eyebrows rising, pursing his lips. He tilts his head, as if to say, _Yeah? That's not huge at all. Care to explain?_

"Long story," Nico says, breathing out. He's not ready to go over the dream he just woke from until he knows it won't become reality. "But we do need to go to Camp Jupiter. We can let the others know about Lou Ellen if Rachel hasn't already."

"What about your dad? The quest? You know, striking out for the Underworld without a clue about what we're getting into?"

Nico trails his hand over Will's chest, covering a small brown nipple with his palm and pressing it like a gentle suction cup. He half-giggles, watching Will's eyelids flutter in response, and then Will pushes Nico onto his back and holds him pinned with his body.

Face growing hot, Nico can feel his heartbeat in his lips, his blood thundering, his body calling out for Will all over again. He swipes his tongue over his lips. "Yeah. I know what's happening. And we need to go to Camp Jupiter …" his voice turns into a groan as Will pivots his hips against Nico's, brushing their renewed erections and turning Nico's bones into putty. "I have to help Hazel, and, and stuff. And Hades …" Nico stops, biting his lower lip as Will sucks a hickey into his neck. "Fuck. Hades has shit to do, too. Roll over. It's my turn."

Will holds Nico in place, forcing him to meet his eyes. "How much time do we have? Honestly? We're only in Illinois and Porkpie will need to stop at least one more time before we make it to California."

Nico shifts, trapping one of Will's knee with his foot, then tweaks Will's right nipple, startling him. He pushes as soon as the pressure on his arms lets up and flips their positions, his eyes smoldering hot. "I have my powers back. I'll get us there in about 10 seconds."

He stops Will's attempt at protesting with a tongue-filled kiss, grinding his hips until Will can only whimper, "m'kay."

High on winning that argument, Nico savors his prize.


	30. Chapter 30

See What Has Begun

Rachel

Rachel glares at Apollo from the couch, Cecil, nervously wringing his hands beside her.

Apollo runs a hand through his sweaty blond curls, then shrugs. She can tell he's feeling guilty by the way he avoids meeting her eyes. He glances at the state of the cave, then drops his eyes to the DDR floor mats, finally bringing his face up and looking at her sheepishly.

"You weren't using it, and I didn't see any harm in making myself comfortable –"

"That's not the point!" Rachel cuts him off as Dionysus chuckles behind him, and vanishes the floor mats with a snap of his fingers. "You're _never_ around when I need you! It's mostly fine; I get that I shouldn't be dependant on a god to solve my problems, that I need to figure out how to deal with life on my own terms, but when the Oracle fell silent a couple of years ago, and I started_dying_, it would have been nice to get a head's up from my patron who knew what was happening and why. I mean, yeah, we sorted things out a bit afterwards, but in the past two years, I've seen you maybe a handful of times, and your timing was always inconvenient. And now? It's been ages since the Oracle has made so much as a peep in my head, but when she wakes up and gets her creepy act on, telling me that it's _my_ responsibility to keep you informed when you're never around … So I come racing over here with Nemesis, of all people, and find Lou Ellen in the Infirmary and _another_ prophecy comes pouring out of me! You know how draining it is to host the Oracle, so don't even pretend that this is about the decor of my cave!"

She takes deep breaths after finishing, trying to stay present, dizzy from hunger and exhaustion.

Apollo is silent for a long time, and Dionysus breaks the awkward air settling in the room by conjuring a leopard print throw and draping it over her shoulders, then bustling about, setting up a coffee table laid with tea and mini sandwiches. He sits cross-legged on the floor on the opposite side and invites Rachel and Cecil to help themselves while he pours himself a cup of tea and doctors it with milk and sugar.

Rachel can't help herself from smiling as she tucks in. She's learned well enough from the past that Apollo will talk to her when he's good and ready and it would be pointless to try to force him.

"You look good, Mr. D," she says, inhaling the jasmine steam from her teacup, allowing it to relax her.

Mr. D blinks, his eyelashes black and long, his expression curious and youthful as he looks back at her from under his long black curls. Then he shrugs. "It helps that with the world going down the toilet I no longer have any fucks to give. Thank you for the compliment."

Cecil stifles a snort as Mr. D sips his tea, his cheeks rosy, his pinky extended.

Apollo sinks to the floor beside Mr. D with an insufferable sigh and takes a teacup when Mr. D passes it to him. He concentrates on the ripples in the surface of his tea, frowning at them.

"I will admit, I have been more absent than I should be, especially to my Oracle. But see, there were just some things that had to happen in order to prevent even worse things from happening. Lou Ellen's trip to the Lotus Casino was _not_ my idea."

His eyes widen as he'd just confessed to more than he meant to. He attempts to smooth over the slip by asking Rachel to pass him a sandwich.

"Wait," Rachel says, eyes narrowing. "You had a hand in putting Lou Ellen into that, that, ghost-like state she's in at the Big House, and you're telling me that she's actually at the Lotus Casino?"

Apollo frowns and grabs a sandwich for himself, reaching across the table. He takes a bite as Rachel glares daggers at him, then swallows. "Me? No."

"No?" Rachel demands. "Then what? It's hard to make heads or tails when I'm talking to you!"

"The past couple of years have been hard, alright? Harder on some of us than others."

Rachel rolls her eyes, her temper flaring. "I don't want to hear excuses right now. I'm supposed to tell you that Tartarus is rising. Hades has joined forces with Nyx to try to slow his progress, and …"

"I know this already," Apollo says. He waves his hand distractedly.

"You mean it was a complete waste of my time coming here?" Mr. D pops open a diet coke, and Rachel glares at him.

"Don't mind me," he says. Cecil clears his throat. Mr. D turns to him, his eyes half-lidded as if he's bored. "What?"

"Th-the prophecy," Cecil stammers. "It wasn't a waste because if you hadn't seen Lou Ellen, we wouldn't have the prophecy to go on. 'Cause I'm pretty sure the child of magic it refers to is Lou Ellen."

Mr. D yawns. "Come again now? What's this new prophecy? Hurry it up too, I'm tuckered out and ready to turn in for the night."

Rachel forces herself to calm down. She needs to get through this night, and as much as she had wanted Apollo to be available to talk, to listen, it's not as satisfying as she'd hoped it would be. He seems to know a lot more than he's willing to share, and that reminds her of her dad's many business deals. How he'd hold his true motives to his chest and only present the positive details in front of her. She can't help feel a similar sense of betrayal. When she'd first learned about the environmental impact her dad was responsible for, it had ripped her heart out. She mentally prepares herself to have the same thing happen with Apollo, hating herself for doubting him and yet, unable to not do it.

Cecil nudges her in the side.

"What? Oh, right. The prophecy." There will be time enough to dwell on her feelings. Now, she needs to do her job. She empties her mind, focusing all of her attention to the Oracle, calling up the words.

_The child of Magic in limbo stretched thin.  
Another of meek, unintentional sin._

_Unite the siblings forgotten by time.  
Heal the rift on the back of a dime._

_Victory if the charge resonates from the West.  
Eastern seeds sown will reap tears and new death._

_Sunbeams break through Erebus  
Fulfilling the Inheritance._

Mr. D hums under his breath. "Well, that's deep."

Rachel shakes off her relaxed state and stares at him, offended.

"What?" Mr. D says. "It's clear to me that since you are in the east and victory comes from the west, you ought to hustle your butt back to tell your friends on the other side, 'cause a scrawny little Hermes brat and a mortal wisp of an oracle ain't gonna cut it."

Rachel purses her lips and stares at Apollo, sending a mental message to him with all her will, even as he pretends not to notice.

_You owe me, dude. The least you could do to make things right is to get us to Camp Jupiter fast._

Apollo finally looks at her from under annoyed eyebrows. "Alright. Fine. I'll drive you. Then we're even and you can't kick me out of your cave."

Rachel smirks, but it's only half-hearted. Having a guaranteed ride back to Reyna alleviates some of her stress, and exhaustion weighs her body down all at once. She yawns.

Apollo pokes Mr. D with his elbow. "How about it, bro? Can I hang with you while this chick catches a few Zs?"

Mr. D makes a grumpy face, but looking as young as he does, it's less effective than it would have been in his dumpy, middle-aged form. "I suppose." He turns to Rachel and Cecil and raises a finger in warning. "No funny business between you two, understand? You'd better spend the next six hours or so sleeping." He climbs to his feet along with Apollo, his fussy attitude clashing with his fancy leotard. "A shower wouldn't kill you either; you smell like car exhaust."

The gods disappear in a burst of purple and gold flames.

"Uh," Cecil says. "If you want me to scram, I'll understand. But I do want to come along. If the Camp Jupiter guys are gonna go after Lou Ellen, I want to be there."

Rachel nods. She gets it. If it was Reyna who was lifeless in the infirmary and the rest of her consciousness somehow off in a hotel where time stood still, she wouldn't be eager to miss out on going after her.

"It's fine if you want to stay here. Just grab a blanket and stay on your side of the couch. I'm gonna go decontaminate myself and then catch a few winks."


	31. Chapter 31

Tap Into My Strength, Drain it Dry

Apollo

Apollo stretches his legs out on Dionysus's bed in his apartment in the Big house, his back resting against the headboard. He'd changed into his comfortable jeans and camp T-shirt as soon as they'd arrived, while Dionysus seems to be content to wear his leotard. Dionysus hadn't even broken a sweat, another thing that Apollo has noticed lately that he has in common with mortals. He pushes the thought away, intending to deal with it later, as is his habit and waits for Dionysus to stop fussing with his chest of drawers.

"What are you looking for in there anyway?" Apollo asks. He digs the pillows out from under the duvet and fluffs them behind his back, then settles back with his arms up, resting the back of his head in his hands.

"Hmph," Dionysus grunts. He slams the drawer and gives his room a sweep with his eyes narrowed, then points at the door. It closes and locks. Apollo raises an eyebrow as Dionysus produces a bottle of wine from thin air and uncorks it. "My secret stash isn't where I left it. I disguised it as a six pack of mellow yellow, but it's not there. Damn kids better not be sneaking in here and rifling through my shit if they know what's good for them." He plops onto the bed, and Apollo has to catch himself, holding onto the edge of the mattress before he falls off.

He adjusts the pillows again and resumes his position, glancing side-eyed at Dionysus drinking directly from his bottle. "Thought you had 25 more years to go. You really risking having another hundred set upon you?"

Dionysus lowers the bottle to his lap, and smacks the headboard with the back of his head as he looks at the ceiling. "What more can he do to me? I don't give a shit anymore, not with him off his rocker and … and …" He sighs and takes another long pull from the bottle. "Nothing matters anymore. I may as well live it up while I can."

Apollo frowns. This defeatism doesn't suit Dionysus. The god is a firecracker normally: ricocheting from one extreme set of emotions to another, and tempered in between. He's never apathetic. Well, not when he's wearing his youth. "What'd he do to you? To drive you to come back _here_ when I've got the reins? You hate it here."

Dionysus curls his upper lip, frowning and making his chin dimple, unhappiness spilling off him like emotional exhaust. "I've thought it over the past day, two days? However long it's been. It's not worth getting worked up over. It's done. I pretty much fucked myself and … and everyone else over. This is just. I can't deny that I deserve it."

Wrinkling his forehead, Apollo turns onto his side, propped up with his elbow. "You're going to have to explain what you're talking about. I can read the future, but not your mind."

Rolling his eyes, Dionysus grunts again. He lifts the bottle, but sets it back in his lap without drinking, staring at it. "I can't stand up to Zeus. He's like my father and my mother. I mean, I know my real mother and what was done to her. I risked everything to fetch her back, but I just don't have the strength to do it again. I don't have the power. None of us do any more, you notice that? I've spent the last couple of years defusing the other Olympians from their efforts to try to push you into another overthrow, but I tripped myself up in trying to appeal to father's good side. I didn't see this madness then. He's hidden it well."

"I still don't understand. What are you … I mean, what exactly are you talking about with doing it again?"

Dionysus sighs heavily, shaking his head. Apollo can read in Dionysus's face that getting a straight answer is something that Dionysus has to work up to. He radiates pain. "I tried to appeal to him, but I did it for the wrong reasons. I wasn't trying to figure out what was going on with him. It didn't even occur to me that there might be a struggle there, something I might be able to help him with. I did it because I wanted to get out of my punishment. It's freaking ridiculous that this 'punishment' even landed on me. I mean, honestly. I just cannot function at my full power when I'm tied down. It's like what happened to Pan, you know? Tie me down with rules and regulations, make me live inside a box and force me to do the same to others, and all I can do is fight tooth and nail to get out, to break free. Pan eventually stopped struggling, he conceded his dominion and then died. I was so afraid the same thing was happening to me, I couldn't see that father is fighting a battle with his own mind, not until it was too late." Tears brim up in Dionysus's eyes, distorting the color and trembling.

"Too late for …?" Apollo whispers. It feels like he may be tempting the fates by asking the question, but he senses Dionysus won't be able to tell him unless he does.

The tears spill down Dionysus's cheeks, streaking his rosy skin. "Ariadne," Dionysus says with a broken sob. "He cast her into Tartarus – or had Boreas do it – same difference really. If there was ever a woman that was more undeserving of such a fate …" He trails off, swallowing the rest of his sentence, likely trying not to think about her gentle nature for fear it'll hurt worse.

Apollo gets it. Of all his children, Asclepius is one of the gentlest souls, and he and Ariadne started out as demigods; they still have mortal souls. The thought makes Apollo's breath catch, another rising. Dionysus also began as a demigod, but of the two of them, Apollo is the one who seems to be growing more mortal. Does Dionysus still have a mortal soul? If so, then …

"I don't know why you even tolerate being in the same room as me, Apollo," Dionysus says, interrupting Apollo's thoughts. "I'm horrible. I haven't given a thought to your plight even if I have seen what the others are demanding of you. I've been too focused on my own …" he gestures randomly, like searching for the right word, "…everything."

Apollo makes the split-second decision to trust his little brother. He hadn't seen Dionysus break down like this ever. Before, when Dionysus had proved himself as a hero, and Zeus raised him to Olympian status, the first thing he had done with his newfound powers was to defy his father and the rules of nature, and even Hades himself and descended into the depths of the Underworld to bring his mother back with him. It tested the wills of the gods, but not one of the Olympians or even Hades could deny that he was setting a wrong to rights. He'd been so in touch with righteous power that Hestia, the eldest of them, had offered up her seat in the pantheon to him with a smile on her face.

"You know," Apollo starts, musing over his words. "I haven't been as inactive in dealing with the state of things as most people assume. But I gotta tell you, it's really good to see you back, like yourself again. I hate that you had to be brought so low to get there."

Dionysus harrumphs, but his tears have stopped and Apollo can tell he's pleased with the sentiment by the way he hides a small smile, taking another long drink from his bottle.

"Can I trust you, brother? I mean honestly and truly _trust_ you?"

Lowering his bottle back to his lap, Dionysus nods solemnly and wipes the stain from his lips. The atmosphere turns serious, Dionysus's eyes unwavering as they fix on Apollo's. "You know I do not swear oaths lightly, or even at all for the most part because they're binding. But for you, tonight … I swear on the Oracle of Delphi which we both protect and upon the river Styx, whatever information you share with me, I will not use to bring harm to you or to others."

That does it. Apollo swallows hard, tears prickling his eyes. Damned emotions; they never used to affect him so strongly.

Dionysus raises an eyebrow, giving him a curious look. "Well, don't cry about it beefhead. I don't want Styx to think that you getting all weepy is causing you harm."

Apollo stifles a half-sob/half-laugh with the back of his hand. He sniffles and drops his hand again. "It's just really good to hear you say that. Hermes was always my go-to confidante, and unfortunately, I can't talk to him about what I've been up to. He's part of it."

"Mmm-hmmmmm? Am I finally going to get some clarification about what that flightly boy-toy of yours was rambling about a few days ago? He seems to be under the impression that time has jumped forward two full years. I mean, I did a mental pat down and checked my calendar to make sure. It totally hasn't, but he didn't seem to have lost his wits either."

Apollo takes a moment to reason with himself, to convince himself to actually put his faith in Dionysus's oath. The problem is figuring out whether or not sharing the truth will mess up the grand scheme of things. He pushes himself upright, sitting on his feet, his palms resting on his knees and giving him a view of the fire in the hearth. Watching the flames lick over the wood, he reads the patterns and allows his thoughts to wander while Dionysus waits.

The answer seems to rise from his own core, burning its message into his mind like an iron brand glowing hot in a bed of coals. Trust is the root of it. Sometimes knowing what is going to happen further down the road prevents you from noticing the sights you pass along the way, and in ignoring the present, you seal the fate of the future.

He drops his voice, finally answering Dionysus's question. "Yes. But first, I need you to take me to the place where we won't be overheard by anyone."

Dionysus groans, then rubs his face. "Really, Apollo? You know, even the Madlands isn't a hundred percent secure. _She_ has access to it."

Apollo nods. "Yes. I am aware," he says, pointedly not breaking eye contact, waiting.

"All right. Hold on to your boots." Dionysus waves his hand over himself and Apollo, the room dissolving into Mist.

XxxX

The Madlands is a place similar to the shadow realm and the world between sleep and death. There are many layers to the Mist, and this is one realm that Dionysus holds as his own domain. He uses it as a place where those suffering insanity can find respite or torment, depending on the circumstance. He normally allows madness to unfold in mortals as it will, but when he does intervene, he has the ability to sway which fate the mortal will find by his own judgement.

They materialize in a foggy marsh, the air moist and thick, coating the back of Apollo's throat as he breathes it in and nearly making him gag. His body shivers, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. The place affects him more strongly than he'd expected, but the other Olympians can't access the realm, so at least he can speak to Dionysus freely.

Dionysus tucks his arm around Apollo's waist. It's warm and real, something to keep him anchored. He relaxes a fraction, grateful for the gesture, and allows Dionysus to guide him out of the marsh and up a short hill hidden in vapor. At the top Dionysus opens a door which takes solid form after it is open, and ushers Apollo through it into a small circular-sort of room, similar to a gazebo. Dionysus shows him how to take a seat, the bench built into the wall, appearing after they have done so, the door swinging shut at the same time.

Apollo releases a shaky breath as the chill dissipates, the walls becoming more apparent in form as he relaxes.

"I'm a little concerned about you, Apollo," Dionysus confesses. "The last time I brought you here, you didn't put off this much anxiety, and that was _after_ the second time you spent a year as a mortal."

Frowning at the reminder of his slavery to Laomedon, Apollo recalls the last time they came here. Dionysus is the only god who Apollo confided in about his trials, that the evil taskmaster had gone further with Apollo than the threat he delivered to Poseidon and Apollo together, to bind their hands and feet and cut off their ears if they didn't step up the pace. That punishment had been deemed by Zeus as 'lenient' for the offense of trying to overthrow his power. But Dionysus is right about how much more mortal he is now than he was then, after actually being reduced to one. It freaks him out more than he wants to acknowledge.

"I, uh," Apollo says, trying to piecemeal his thoughts. It's not like him to struggle with words. "I've noticed it, too. You know, Dionysus. Only Hermes knows of what I'm about to tell you, and … and I really want to keep it that way." When Dionysus nods for him to continue, he confesses. "I have dreams." He hates the way his heart stirs when he utters the words, mad at himself for the joy that comes with it. Dreams are a symptom of mortality and when they happen to a god, it's usually only at the point the god is dying, fading away. But more than that, his biggest secret looms. It's on the tip of his tongue. He hesitates until Dionysus releases the breath he'd been holding. "I think I have … a soul."

It isn't unusual to see Dionysus grow agitated, but in this moment, witnessing it simultaneously terrifies and invigorates Apollo. Perhaps he'll discover if the evolution he's undergoing is similar to Dionysus's lived experience, rising from mortal to god. Apollo holds onto the hope like an answered prayer; it's possible that he's misreading the signs of fading. Dionysus screws up his face, twisting one of his black curls round and round his finger and tugging on it. He crosses one knee over the other, then switches, reversing the position on the opposite side, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down.

"This makes no sense," he says at last. "You realize this place is still accessible by Hecate? Why would you say such a thing aloud even here?"

Apollo shrugs, unable to keep the smile tugging at his lips from happening. "Because it feels good to finally say it. Freeing, really. I didn't realize quite how heavy a burden carrying that secret was. And … it's okay if Hecate hears it. I trust her."

Dionysus's eyes bulge in his face, his cheeks puffing out, the blush from the wine growing even more pronounced as he shakes his head shortly, barely moving. "I'm not hearing this. Am I actually hearing this? Where the hell did I put my wine? I'm not drunk enough to handle this conversation."

Apollo rolls his eyes. Dionysus being dramatic isn't unusual, but Apollo doesn't normally find it so amusing. Maybe it's the whole 'trust' thing. Maybe this is why mortals feel so giddy when they find their other half and put all their trust in them; having that faith in somebody else makes burdens feel manageable. He waits until Dionysus conjures up his wine once more and takes a large swig directly from the bottle. "Let me know when you're ready for the rest. I'm afraid I have a lot to unload tonight."

Dionysus's exasperation doesn't kill Apollo's hope. He needs to prove he's willing to put all his cards on the table before Dionysus will even consider doing the same thing.

Dionysus gives him a look that says _Why do you have to be such a huge pain in the ass all the time?_ then drinks again before resting the bottle on his knee, holding onto the neck. "Okay," he says, burping, and then clearing his throat. "I'm all ears. Lay in on me, sunshine."

XxxX

"Okay, okay, okay … Let me get this straight," Dionysus says when Apollo stops to catch his breath. It feels like he's been talking for more than an hour straight. "So you looked ahead to the future and saw something you didn't like, and so you got together with the the goddess of magic and decided to just … change it? You know how dangerous that is. Like, setting the world off-balance sort of dangerous."

Apollo wipes his brow with the back of his hand, then grimaces at the layer of sweat. "I think I need some water," he says, deferring answering Dionysus's question, and earning himself a dark look from his brother.

"You shouldn't _need_ water, Apollo. Have you thought that maybe your interference might be what's causing you to become less like a god and more like a mere human?"

Apollo frowns, giving Dionysus his best puppydog eyes.

Dionysus closes his eyes and drains the last of his wine, his cheeks rosier than they have been in ages. When he opens them again, he shakes the bottle and clear water fills it from the bottom up. He passes it to Apollo.

Apollo drinks, savoring the clear taste, the refreshing coolness, aware that Dionysus is watching and worried, but unable to stop until he finishes it off. He sighs loudly when the bottle is empty and leans back against the gazebo wall, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, finally refreshed.

Apollo turns to look when Dionysus clears his throat. He's tired now and the concept of sleep is so tempting.

"We were discussing you and Hecate fucking up the world by trying to alter the future," Dionysus reminds him. "I still cannot believe we are having such a conversation. Of all the gods, you were always the one that interfered the least on your own accord. You always, _always,_ knew where to draw the line between gods and mortals and for some reason, the mortals liked you even better because of that. _I_ looked to you for guidance in how to learn how to maintain that balance myself. What in Hades were you thinking?"

Sighing heavily, Apollo shakes his head. "It's not really how it sounds. I know I'm insufferable to talk to, that I hold my cards close to my chest, but you know that's more because I've been trained to operate that way under the threat of Father's punishments." He pauses and steadies his breathing, his mind drifting to what Zephyros might be up to right now. Then, he shakes his head, not wanting to think about what had led to him needing to ask Hecate for assistance. "I didn't alter the future, actually, technically … _I_ didn't alter anything. The past two years unfolded normally, but a small group made some poor choices – sort of got carried away – and had they been allowed to continue that path, they would have exploded the sun; All of us, everything, would be 'poof,' gone. Even the fates value their own existence enough to look the other way when Hecate does her thing. It's not bad working with a force who can cross any boundary."

Dionysus massages his forehead, then clears his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes his bottle back from Apollo and fills it with wine again. "Okay. So _Hecate_ is the one who actually did … what now?" He shifts, scooting to the end of the bench, turning sideways and lifting his feet onto it. He rests the back of his head against the wall, holding his wine bottle balanced on his thigh.

Apollo smiles crookedly. The way Dionysus carries himself – especially dressed in his purple leotard, his long black curls resting on his shoulders and cushioning the back of his head, his expression haughty – reminds Apollo of a Prima Donna he'd favored in the 1920s, kicking back in her dressing room after a show. He pushes the thought from his mind, losing focus again. "Sorry. Where was I?"

Dionysus stares at Apollo, his violet eyes unamused as he drags his bottle to his lips and drinks, his Adam's apple bobbing. Lowering the bottle, he wipes his upper lip and breathes out through his nose, his lips pursing. "Hecate. What. Did. She. Actually. Do?" he says, punctuating each word as if to drill it into Apollo's head, though his tone is gentle.

Apollo's cheeks heat up, but he finds his train of thought again. "There were four of them: one mortal, three gods. She wiped the memories of the past two years from three of them, and, uh, I asked if she'd be more selective with the last. Only take the memories of … you know … the rebellion plans."

"For fuck's sake," Dionysus says, shaking his head. He looks almost as tired as Apollo feels. "I assume the one you made a special case for was Zephyr? And your reasoning …" he pauses, his tone changing from mild curiosity to pitying as he continues, "… You're back together again. Aren't you?"

Apollo nods slowly, then pulls the photo Dionysus had given him from out of the Mist and stares at it. "Today I learned that this wasn't the first time such a memory spell has been used on a god. That's what happened to me, isn't it? And Zephyr. Long ago." He looks up at Dionysus again. "It was Hecate back then, too? Father asked it of her?"

Dionysus shrugs. "Heavens if I know. They didn't tell me anything back then, still don't in fact." He frowns briefly before making an 'oh well' sort of expression. "Luckily, I'm not offended. I really don't give a damn about what they all get up to. All I need is freedom to move around and be myself. Fuck. I had hoped this conversation would lift my spirits a little, you know. Instead, I'm more disgruntled than I was before."

"Yeah. I don't blame you," Apollo says. "I don't think the fates are involved with my 'mortal' dilemma. I think it might be Aphrodite that has a hand in it."

Dionysus raises his eyebrows, his forehead disappearing under his hair. "Yeah? She's not a goddess you want to cross. What'd you do this time?"

Apollo fights his smile, then caves to it, his lips stretching into a mischievous grin. "We got married, Zephyr and I." Saying it aloud lifts his spirits, the gazebo changing in response. He goes on, explaining himself as the wall opposite him, previously grey and indistinct - fuzzy around the edges - solidifies. The wooden beams fill with color, deep, rich reds and browns, like polished cedar. "Anteros warned Zephyr that the fact Zephyr could see him was both a blessing and a curse. I dunno. If the curse was that we got temporarily separated, it's not so bad." He frowns, recalling Aphrodite's unwelcome visit, the horrible mood he'd been in before Zephyros had returned, his loss of the ability to sire demigods, his growing resemblance to mortals. "But even if the curse is something else, I don't care. It's worth it."

When Dionysus doesn't respond, Apollo turns to look. Dionysus stares back, his eyes bugging out, his jaw dropped, his lips stretched into a shocked O.

"What's up with you?" Apollo asks, giving one of Dionysus's ankles a squeeze.

Dionysus slowly closes his mouth. A full minute passes before he says anything.

"You are treading dangerous waters. Did you ever stop to consider that what you do, what measures you take and that are laid upon you have a direct correlation to the society of the mortal world? Marriage is Hera's domain, and rewriting the rules …" He wrinkles his forehead, pausing, then rubs his temples. "What am I saying? I swear to Zeus, Apollo. The bullshit I'm spewing isn't my own. I've been held down for so long, I'm reciting the company lines now."

Apollo chuckles to himself and rubs Dionysus's feet when he moves them to Apollo's lap. "It's really good to see you coming back to yourself, brother. I know that Zephyr and I are risking a lot. Hera stopped pressuring me to find a wife after Eros took up his campaign to ruin my life. I know she's not going to be happy about it, more because she doesn't consider wind gods worthy of an Olympian than because we're both gods."

Dionysus has soft feet, responsive feet. He massages them, watching the cares and worries fall away from Dionysus's face, listening to the happy sighs he makes. But Apollo's attention is divided, half on the foot rub and half on the concerns Dionysus brought up.

"You are right to chastise me though," Apollo says, pressing in with his thumbs. "I did it without really thinking. Since the battle at Athens … you know, my glittery dispatch … I've not been able to, uh – " He stops. It's still painful to talk about. But siring demigods is how the gods stay present, how they keep going.

Dionysus opens his eyes, his hands clasped on his stomach. He lifts an eyebrow. "Yes? Did he take something else from you?"

Apollo shrugs. He switches to massaging the other foot, concentrating on it rather than on Dionysus's face. "I haven't been able to father any demigods. Going on three years now. It's not for the lack of trying or willing women. It's stupid, but … I kind of worked it out in my mind, that if Zephyr and I got a woman pregnant together, that it'd be like … tangible proof of us being 'together', you know? And when it failed every single time, I just felt like a failure, like with everything weighing me down, that was just the thing that broke me. And when he told me about Anteros … I couldn't help it. The proposal came pouring out and …" He smiles, laughing under his breath, "… I don't regret it for a single second."

Dionysus flexes his foot, as Apollo had stopped rubbing. He resumes the massage.

"As soon as you finish my toes, we need to get back. You've got a long drive ahead of you."

"Yeah," Apollo says. "Thanks for this …" He gestures vaguely around the gazebo before continuing the foot rub. "…listening and all. Not judging. It really helps."

It does too. It doesn't even matter that Dionysus verify his hopes or not. Right now, his heart soaring, his troubles not pressing him into the ground, Apollo feels very far from dying. He's so alive, in fact, he wants to sing, and being the god of music, naturally, he does just that.


	32. Chapter 32

All the Fruitless Searches

Nico

It's nine in the morning when Nico collapses the tent. He pockets the tiny square of cloth it turns into when he spots Will saying goodbye to Porkpie on the shore of the lake. The sunlight reflecting off the water makes Will's hair gleam like gold, the exposed tips of his ears shine red. The sight sends shivers of pleasure thrumming down Nico's spine.

Will's in it with him for the long run. They actually have a future together. For the first time since losing Bianca, Nico has a personal interest in surviving the battles facing him. It wasn't until he'd nearly lost that future that he finally realized how much he does love being alive. As the pegasus takes to the sky and Will turns and waves at him, Nico sends up a silent prayer of thanks to Hypnos for helping him realize that fact.

Will grins crookedly as Nico approaches. "What?"

"What?" Nico asks, his lips turning up at the corners. He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of Will's jeans and pulls him close.

"You're looking at me funny." Will says, holding onto the sides of Nico's waist.

"You are too sexy to be allowed and you don't even realize it."

Will smirks, leaning down and pressing his forehead to Nico's. He wraps his arms around Nico's back and then squeezes his butt. "Yeah, Death Boy? Well, you don't even realize that I think the exact same thing when I look at you, even when I tell you to your face."

Nico cocks an eyebrow as Will straightens his posture, holding onto the gaze in his clear blue eyes. The only sense he gets from Will is one of sincerity, and it makes his stomach do a funny little flip. They have to get through this quest, no matter what. Seeing it through will mark the end of their demigod training and the beginning of their adult life together. Nico grins, eager to get on with it.

"Hold on tight, _Sunshine_ and brace yourself. Who knows what we'll be popping into on the west coast."

Will hugs Nico close and nuzzles his neck as Nico fades with him into the nearest shadow.

Shadow-travel with Will feels as natural as breathing. It's odd, Nico thinks, how much Will seems to boost Nico's demigod abilities. Apollo had verified that Will's powers complemented Nico's, but as Nico reaches out to connect with the shadows cast by the tunnel leading into New Rome, he wonders if the boost only goes one way. How had he never thought to ask Will about it? He tucks the thought away to consider later.

Will hums next to Nico's ear, his breath warm against Nico's cool cheek. They hover at the edge of the shadow realm, the tunnel looming over them. Nico's face explodes in heat, a feat he never thought he'd experience while shadow-jumping. He clears his throat, letting Will know they've arrived, and then catches sight of the freeway. His blood runs cold.

A giant crack splits all four lanes across the middle, stopping in the center dividing the southbound traffic from the north. On the left side of the crack, cars sit in twisted piles while half a dozen tow trucks and emergency personnel work hard to clear the wreckage. The freeway on the right side of the crack is entirely clear and looking down the stretch of asphalt at the vacant lanes gives reminds Nico of the same stillness he feels when standing amongst ancient ruins.

Will lets out a low whistle, bringing Nico back to the present. They're still standing in the shadows, Will's arm tucked around Nico's back as he surveys the wreckage. "Wonder what we missed."

Nico shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "I don't know, but the fields of Asphodel stretch out right under that crack." He points at it, then down the empty lanes. "And a ways further, the realm of Erebus begins." His thoughts fly back over the previous night's dreams and he grips Will's arm tightly as a memory surfaces. "Last night, Hermes told Hades about this. He said Asphodel had broken open and the dead were escaping. It looks like it's closed now."

"Let's get to Camp Jupiter," Will suggests. "They'll be able to tell us more."

"Yeah," Nico says, breathing out slowly. "Maybe we should – Whoa!" The shadows shrink and Nico pulls Will with him back into the real world as the shadowy realm vanishes around them, an engine roaring loudly in Nico's ears.

"Seriously?" Will says, looking down the freeway. Nico follows his gaze as the sun Maserati thunders the wrong way toward them, blasting them with a massive wave of heat. The mortal emergency workers don't seem to notice Apollo's arrival, but a number of them wipe their foreheads with their sleeves.

The sun chariot screeches to a halt a few feet before the crack, the smell of burning rubber wafting up towards the tunnel. The passenger door opens and Rachel Elizabeth Dare climbs out; her bright red hair looks like fire and amplifies her dark expression, her furrowed eyebrows. Another kid climbs out after her, this one shorter, his hair streaked with blue.

"It's Cecil!" Will exclaims, sounding confused. He waves at them. "But why …"

Apollo rolls down the driver's side window, his hair as golden blond as ever, and dark shades covering his eyes. He waves back, his smile bright as Rachel slams the passenger door closed behind Cecil and folds her arms across her chest.

She rounds the front of the car and says something that makes Apollo drop his grin, then stomps up the side of the hill toward them without looking back. Cecil scrambles to catch up with her.

Apollo gives them a farewell salute before revving the engine. He backs up, does a three point turn, and then races back down the freeway, disappearing with it over the next hill.

"Hey, Rachel," Will says as she reaches the tunnel.

"Your father is impossible," she snaps back. She turns and gestures impatiently. "Come on, Cecil. You want to do this or not?" Rachel pushes past Will, ignoring Nico altogether, and storms into the cave leading to New Rome.

"Wonder what that's about," Will says under his breath. Nico shrugs.

Cecil stops to catch his breath with his hands on his knees at the tunnel entrance. "Hey, Will," he says. He nods at Nico. "Nico. We've had quite an adventure. You guys know where the Romans are?"

Nico wrinkles his forehead, resigning himself. One way or another, they're about to find out what the Styx is going on and he wants to get it over with. He leads them into the tunnel, following Rachel's blazing red hair as it bounces off her back a hundred paces ahead of them.


	33. Chapter 33

To Fight the Rising Odds

Nico

By the time the boys reach the bridge crossing the Little Tiber, Rachel disappears from view, escorted through the gates by the watchtower guards.

Nico follows the footpath ahead of his companions, finding the gates left unguarded. While it was rather irresponsible for both guards to leave their posts to escort Rachel without calling for backup, he's not complaining. The fewer interruptions they encounter, the faster they'll reach Hazel and Frank and the sooner they can get on with the quest. Will and Cecil chat in hushed tones behind Nico. While _he_ isn't much in the mood to make small talk, he doesn't begrudge Will for wanting to catch up with his friend.

Camp Jupiter appears to be running the same as usual, the purple shades of the Lares intermingling with legionnaires outside the barracks; a muddy group of soldiers are rubbing their sore muscles with towels draped over their arms, making their way to the baths; another batch are hard at work repairing armor and sharpening swords at the forges; an entire cohort is running drills and practicing battle sequences in the field of Mars. Whatever event had caused the nearby freeway to crack in half and so many mortal car pile-ups doesn't seem to have interrupted the Roman sense of duty and discipline.

Nico turns back to make sure Will and Cecil are still following when a pair of high-pitched voices call out in excited unison: "Will!"

Will looks up, apparently just as surprised as Nico, and breaks into a huge grin. He turns, spreading his arms wide as two girls with long blond braided ponytails fly from the nearest barracks' porch and tackle him in a hug.

"Hey, Cassie. Sam," he says, hugging them back just as hard. He maneuvers the hug so he can see Nico. "You remember my sisters? The twins?"

Nico nods, his lips pulling into a smile at the exuberance on his boyfriend's face.

Cecil blinks a few times, seemingly frozen in shock, but then he comes back to life and grins. "I didn't know your sisters ended up at Camp Jupiter."

Will laughs as the girls finally let go of him and turn their attention to the new boy. "Yeah. I guess Apollo took turns between his Greek and Roman aspects when he visited my mom."

"Who's this, Will?" Sam asks.

"I like your hair," Cassie says to Cecil at the same time.

Nico clears his throat before he loses his chance to make himself heard. "I hate to break up this reunion, but we need to talk to Frank and Hazel and figure out what caused that huge crack in the freeway. We already lost track of Rachel.

"Oh!" Cassie says, marching up alongside Nico and hooking her arm through his. "We know all about that and we'll take you to see the praetors."

Sam nods, slotting herself between Will and Cecil and looping their arms with hers. "Yeah. It was crazy all day yesterday. Took about six or seven hours of chasing down the zombies climbing out of the hole, and then working out how to stop up the hole."

The news doesn't surprise Nico as much as it does Will.

"Zombies?" Will gasps, his eyebrows rising almost to his hairline.

"Yeah," Cecil says. "Rachel said that there was an earthquake right before she came to Camp Half-Blood. She said Nemesis showed up and said the dead weren't doing any harm before giving her a ride."

"They weren't doing any harm _yet_," Cassie amends. "Frank and Reyna came running back to report the damage and to organize the troops and when they sent a scouting party out, the zombies were like, changing, growing their flesh to look like mortals. Some of them just walked off and others were trying to hijack the mortals' cars. It got so bad, we had the Fauns use their nature magic to make the mortals sleep and forget what they'd seen while we cut down the most aggressive zombies. Hermes showed up after a while, I guess he'd been trying to rein in the ones that had wandered off but as long as the hole was open, more kept climbing out."

Nico frowns as they turn onto the via principalis. "How'd you finally get it closed?"

Sam answers behind him. "Hazel did some sort of meditation thing with Reyna guiding her and then, BAM! She opened a massive can of whoop-ass and slammed the sides of the hole back together."

"That was so cool," Cassie confirms. She releases Nico's arm. "Ahhh, here we are." They stop outside of the curtained doorway to the _principia_.

"Yeah," Sam says. "Be sure to stop and see us again when you get a chance, Will."

Nico can hear Rachel's voice through the slit in the curtain. He pushes it open. "We really need to get in there."

Sam gives Will a quick hug, releasing him so Cassie can have a turn. "We want to hear all about how Liz is doing at Camp Half-Blood."

"Wait, what?" Will says, but Hazel has spotted Nico and gestures for them to hurry up.

Nico grabs Will's elbow and pulls him inside, Cecil bringing up the rear.

"Shhh," Nico says as Will starts to protest. He crosses the room towards the long table on the other side, his boots thumping against the polished marble floor.

Rachel takes a deep breath and recites the new prophecy for the Romans, her voice sounding sharp with the acoustics of the building.

_The child of Magic in limbo stretched thin.  
Another of meek, unintentional sin._

_Unite the siblings forgotten by time.  
Heal the rift on the back of a dime._

_Victory if the charge resonates from the West.  
Eastern seeds sown will reap tears and new death._

_Sunbeams break through Erebus  
Fulfilling the Inheritance._

Nico, Will, and Cecil sit in three empty chairs next to Piper and Jason, opposite Reyna and Rachel. Five centurions, one from each cohort complete the group with Frank and Hazel at the head of the table in the praetors chairs. Nico rubs his forehead, inwardly cursing himself for wondering why Percy isn't there … Annabeth, too. He forces himself to focus on the proceedings, his eyes meeting Hazel's briefly as she addresses Rachel.

"So we have two prophecies that have yet to be fulfilled completely?"

Rachel blows an errant red curl out of her eyes. She looks tense, her posture stiff, her eyebrows drawn, her lips tight. Nico wonders what Apollo had done or said that has her so riled up.

"That's right. And while my _patron_ …" she exaggerates the word as if to underline her frustration with Apollo, "… revealed some key insights about interpreting them, he's also forbidden me from sharing." She exhales harshly, her nostrils flaring as she taps her fingernails on the polished tabletop. "I can verify that the first part of the first prophecy was fulfilled by Nico, Will, and Lou Ellen's quest a couple of years ago, and by taming Python and freeing the Oracle, events were able to unfold to bring about the rest. Thing is, two prophecies means two quests, and uh, there's not a lot of time left. I sense it's all going to go down in less than a day."

Hazel exchanges a fearful gaze with Frank. He nods at her, then draws his eyebrows, his expression growing determined, focused. It's like seeing him turn from a scared little boy into a war-hardened man in the blink of an eye.

"Alright. The debriefing session can wait. If we have to launch two separate quests, we need to get organized right now. Pontifex, will you take the centurions back to the barracks to change and then call a Senate meeting to commence in 30 minutes?"

Nico looks down the table past Will and Piper. Jason had been so quiet, Nico had almost forgotten he was there.

Jason nods firmly at Frank as he gets to his feet, his hand held out for Piper to join him.

Piper opens her mouth to protest, but Frank beats her to it. His voice sounds both gentle and commanding. "I'm sorry, Piper. But as you're not currently a camper at Camp Half-Blood or a member of the legion, you'll have to sit this quest out."

She sighs wistfully before accepting Jason's hand up. She meets Reyna's gaze across the table. "Feels weird to be out of the loop."

Reyna smiles, chuckling under her breath. "Tell me about it. It's only been a couple of days for me and I feel like I have to sit on my hands and bite my tongue to keep myself from overstepping."

Rachel pats the back of Reyna's hand. "You're doing fine. And as soon as I'm finished with the Oracle part of these quests, we're going to get you settled in at Berkeley." Rachel winks at Piper before Jason leads her and the centurions out to roust the Senators.

Hazel brings the meeting back to order. "We need to discuss both prophecies quickly and devise what they most likely refer to. When we present them to the Senate to vote, I'd like to have teams already divided by those best suited to each task."

Rachel agrees, folding her hands on the table in front of her. "Right. So this newest quest."

"The child of Magic is Lou Ellen," Cecil blurts out, making heads turn. "And no matter what it takes, I'm going on the quest to rescue her. She's my … well … my really good friend. I owe it to her."

Rachel holds up her hand for quiet, silencing him. The heat rising off of Cecil is almost palpable. Nico is torn between thinking Cecil's emotions could either push the quest to victory or create a stumbling block.

"I hear you, Cecil. And," she says, addressing the praetors, "I agree that Lou Ellen is the person the prophecy refers to. Fortunately, we know where she is. Unfortunately, that place is the Lotus Casino. Whoever goes on this quest must be aware that the magic of the casino will make it hard to remember why you are there. It will tempt you to forget everything you mean to accomplish with the promise of instant gratification, and only a few hours inside translates to several days in the real world."

The room falls dead silent.

Nico's stomach sinks. He hates that place. Everything about a quest to the Lotus Casino screams **WRONG** to him. Still, if that is where Lou Ellen has been trapped, he figures it won't hurt to confirm that Rachel's warnings are valid. "It's true. I lost 70 years to that place, and not by choice. I will not go on that quest."

Will gives Nico's knee a squeeze and the simple gesture – a confirmation that Will won't try to force him to go – alleviates the weight on Nico's heart that the prospect of the Lotus burdened him with.

"The next part, the siblings forgotten by time," Will says, making Nico's skin break out in a cold sweat. "Does anybody know who that refers to? I thought it might be Nico and Hazel, but they're both here in this room. I just want to know if I'm crazy for wondering if Nico and Hazel need to be the ones who lead that quest."

Rachel presses her lips together, frowning while Hazel hums thoughtfully.

"That does make _some_ sense, but I'm not feeling it deep down, you know? I'm not a prophet or anything of the sort, but I know magic, and it tends to be more subjective than obvious." Hazel nods subtly at Rachel, whose lips twitch upwards at the corners. "The next lines though … What rift exists on the back of a dime?"

Rachel rummages in her jeans pocket and plonks a handful of change on the tabletop. She sifts several dimes out with her index finger and then slides them across the surface, pushing one to each of them to examine.

Nico picks his up and studies it. "There's an olive branch, a torch, and an oak branch."

The table is quiet for a moment until Frank speaks up. "Oh! The olive tree is sacred to Athena, right?"

"Ye-es," Hazel says hesitantly. She rolls the dime back and forth between the pads of her forefinger and thumb, then closes her fist over it. "And the oak is sacred to Zeus. So, is the rift between them or did they, together, cause some sort of rift with other people or gods?"

Nico and several of the others shrug. Reyna remains strangely silent. Rachel does too. Nico suspects Rachel's silence is related to Apollo forbidding her from sharing, but …

"What do you think, Reyna?" he asks.

She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head, considering. "_I_ think Minerva and Jupiter both have plenty of history backing up the potential for creating rifts but to be honest, I think we're wasting time. You've got the basics figured out, some questions raised. Now, I think it'd be wise to decide which of you should go on each quest."

Frank hums lowly. "I agree. I think we should revisit the other prophecy real quick, just in case an idea pops out at us, then we should split the teams."

"Agreed," Hazel says. "Also, only one of the praetors can leave for a quest. We can't leave Camp Jupiter without a leader."

Reyna smirks, her eyes twinkling. Nico suspects she might be enjoying watching somebody else have to grapple with the very struggles of balancing leadership and adventure that she had to for so long. It can't be easy. "Good call," she says. "Rachel? The first prophecy?"

Rachel collects the dimes and slips them back into her pocket. She clears her throat and recites:

_The fall of the sun, the final verse  
Inoculate the source, to fate – reverse._

_The wretched one must make a stand,  
topple the head, draw a line in the sand_

_When a lion crows and the vortex spews  
forth the daughter he never knew_

_Then lethe ease a fallen pride,  
and truth unveil a broken bride_

_The early three will join no more  
And two in one reset the score._

When she finishes, Nico dives in headfirst.

"I think the 'wretched one' refers to my father. I had a dream last night where he said he was going to Olympus to make Zeus see reason. If he did it, then there's that part fulfilled, right?"

Hazel's lower lip trembles, but she steadies herself with her fists on the table. "Really? He's gonna call him out?"

Nico meets and holds her gaze. "He was ready to jump into Tartarus and take the pit on head to head, but Hermes reminded him that Olympus holds more power to succeed over the pit, and that he wanted to convince Apollo and Dionysus to join him to confront their father. Hades insisted that it should be himself that talked sense into Zeus because he's the eldest brother of the gods, and because Zeus wouldn't listen to anybody not comparable in power." Nico bobs his head as he finishes, his evil grin slipping into place. "I think Hades has finally found his voice."

Hazel's smile matches Nico's, and it isn't until Frank interrupts that Nico realizes they're probably creeping everybody out. He chuckles under his breath.

"Uh, Hazel?" Frank says. "I don't know about the middle parts of the prophecy, but the last lines, the one about the 'early three'. You think it refers to Tartarus? Like, how Saturn and Gaea got neutralized?"

Hazel stops short, her eyes growing round. "Oh goodness. Oh my gosh. I think you might be onto something, Frank. What do you think, Nico?"

"I – yeah." The concept of defeating Tartarus in the same manner as Gaea and Ouranos blows his mind. How in Hades did Frank Zhang get to be so insightful? Then he remembers Frank has been a praetor for more than two years and that, likely, contributed to his maturity.

Will squeezes Nico's knee again. "You remember, Nico… When you started to raise the Underworld as a backup plan on our last quest, and then realized that it made Tartarus start to rise and you couldn't stop it?"

Nico scowls. Of course he remembers. He doesn't need Will reminding him about his mistakes in front of their friends.

Will shakes his head, smiling as if trying to convince Nico he's not being a butthead. "No. Nico, think about it. If Tartarus _is_ rising to the surface of the earth, he's no longer invincible; he's out of his own turf. He really could be subdued."

"Wow," Franks says, sounding very much _wowed_. "That's amazing, Nico. You set the fulfillment of the prophecy in motion."

Nico glares at Frank, trying to decide whether or not the big guy is making fun of him or not. He finds complete _Canadian_ honesty staring back at him. It kind of feels good. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

"Okay," Hazel interjects. "Teams. I think Cecil and I should be the ones to go to the Lotus Casino. And Nico and Will should take on the other quest. You two started it after all, you should finish it."

Jason returns, all decked out in his white pontifex bedsheet of doom. He pushes the mantle off his head and ruffles his hair. "You guys ready? The Senate is assembling."


	34. Chapter 34

Disguises No One Knows

The Very Distant Past

Ganymede

"Come on," Eros coaxes, tapping a gilded knucklebone against his knee. "This is how you play the game. You did say you wanted to play, right – that Zeus wants you to make friends and learn the ropes?"

Ganymede frowns at his lap. He sits cross-legged in the grass on the opposite side of a dusty patch of dirt from Eros. If it were his choice, he'd rather make friends with anybody other than the love god. According to Zeus, Eros and Ganymede are in the same boat: outsiders brought into the Olympian fold by one of _the twelve_ and Aphrodite and now, Zeus have been anxiously trying to help them fit in.

"Yes," Ganymede says under his breath, glancing up from under his lowered eyebrows. He hates how _small_ being around Eros makes him feel. Standing, Eros barely rises to Ganymede's chest. His black hair with its unshorn ringlets, his limbs juvenile and undeveloped, and his large white wings only serve to make him look even younger than his height. Ganymede, with eighteen mortal years behind him and a handful of love affairs before his abduction, finds it hard to believe that this barely pubescent youth knows the first thing about love, let alone holding dominion over it.

Eros folds his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers impatiently, and though Ganymede refuses to meet his eyes, he can feel their gaze, red as blood, burning like poison upon his scalp.

"Look, if you want to be my friend, you have to play the game. It's not hard to throw a few bones, is it?"

Ganymede sighs. At least when the game is over he'll have an excuse to leave. He tosses his last three knucklebones onto the dusty patch. His stomach lurches as he calculates his score. It feels like he's trying to digest a solid knot of disappointment.

Eros crows, fluttering three feet in the air before swooping back and snatching the bones for himself. "I win!"

Ganymede glares at him. "Yeah? Great. Congratulations. You may have won all my knucklebones, but you sure didn't win my friendship. I'm out of here." He climbs to his feet and dusts off his legs. The idea he's going to have to return to Zeus and admit he failed at making friends gives him pause. He stands with his back to Eros, considering his options: give it another shot, or retreat.

"It isn't all that big a deal you realize?" Eros whispers, directly at Ganymede's back. His wings wafting his nectar-sweet breath across Ganymede's cheek, gentle as a caress. But his voice burns like acid. "Zeus choosing you, I mean. He may be the king of the gods and all, but he's clueless to the matters of the heart. You're little more than a trinket to him, a toy – a passing fancy. You've been brought to Olympus and gifted with immortality in order to preserve your youth and his desire for you, and nothing more. He hasn't given you dominion over squat. You may as well be a walking, talking doll for all the worth you have amongst the Olympians."

Tensing, Ganymede clenches his fists at his sides, all his built up frustrations and fears about his own worth rising up inside his chest like a geyser of righteous indignation. He whirls around, meeting Eros face to face. "What do_you_ know? Maybe you're the one who is only a trinket. Maybe you are only a symbol of the 'love' you claim power over. I don't see you enjoying the fruits of it. Maybe it doesn't matter to me what worth I have in the eyes of the other Olympians because I have enough love within myself all on my own. Enough even to share with others and_that_ is why Zeus treasures me. Yes, it may not last forever, but life on Olympus lasts a hell of a lot longer than it does in the mortal world and _I_ intend to make the most of it. I love Zeus and that is enough to prove my worth to myself. Keep your fancy knucklebones and your creepy insinuations and enjoy the love they inspire. I will not be your friend."

Eros

Ganymede stalks away, brushing hard against Eros's right wing and displacing several feathers as he rushes past. Eros clenches his teeth, his face hot, his heart seething. How dare this upstart 'prince' turn _his_ words around! He grasps his bow and reaches for an arrow. From behind, a warm hand touching his wrist stops him. The gentle contact sends a flood of comforting warmth running down his arm and to his heart. _Mother_.

"I think that will do," Aphrodite says, her voice soft and low. "Save your anger for the bigger targets. They'll be heading this way before long."

His eyes burn, brimming with tears. He drops his bow, turning and burying his face in her embrace. He likes having a mother, someone who loves him without reason and readily offers her company and comfort. He hadn't understood the concept of motherly love before she arose from the sea and adopted him on sight. Still, even as he relaxes against her bosom, allowing her to smooth his displaced feathers, he considers the plan.

"I don't understand," he sniffles. "Why must I break up a love like theirs? It came about organically without any outside influence, like I did." He drops his voice to a low whisper. "You're asking me to break myself in doing this, Mother."

Another voice answers, deeper than Aphrodite's but no less feminine. "If their love is true as you say it is, it will not break and neither will you. Not by this action. Not permanently."

Aphrodite relaxes her arms, allowing him to draw back enough to meet the speaker. He turns, drawing his wings so he can sense Aphrodite's presence at his back. A girl about the same height and proportions as his form gazes at him with the focused sharpness of a hunter. He recognizes her pale blue eyes, and though they haven't ever exchanged words, he knows her at once.

"Artemis," he says. His voice sounds somehow louder than usual and restrained at the same time. Artemis raises an eyebrow before his eyes are drawn to the refracting light behind her. Another goddess appears out of thin air. She stands beside Artemis, though he can't quite make out her face. It keeps changing as the light around them shimmers and chases, twinkling like dewdrops on a spider's web before winking out and beginning again.

The new goddess's voice sounds gruff to him, grating in his ears like pebbles being crunched underfoot. "If you do not suspend this bond, far worse will befall the world at large. The Fates do not take efforts to cheat them lightly and Zeus has already fallen to their curse. It is a matter of time before he brings his own destruction raining down upon us all unless a champion rises who is capable of bearing his mantle."

Eros opens his mouth to speak before the light distracts him again. It pulses like a current, tracing a dome in the air around them. When he focuses again on the goddesses, another has shimmered into being, one he remembers from the days before the Olympian gods: Hecate. She slips an arm around the faceless goddess's waist, her solid black eyes fixating on him.

"Nemesis speaks the truth, Eros. She involves herself with Olympian politics only when the imbalance of power posits a genuine threat. Truly, as you yourself rose from the void of Chaos, you understand why the evolution of conscious beings, mortal and immortal alike is worth saving. Do you yourself want to return to the disordered darkness?" He shakes his head, his heart racing with a terror he cannot explain. "Apollo will never rise to his full potential until he has been tried. He must be battered to the point of losing everything before making the choice of rising up and claiming his birthright or succumbing to loss. But, even then, we will have bought ourselves time. It is possible, if Apollo cannot manage it, another savior will have risen in his stead."

He hates hearing such arguments but he cannot deny the wisdom in them. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, bolstered by Aphrodite's support at his back. They're waiting for him to answer, to swear he will carry out what they ask of him. He takes a deep breath, weighing his options against the judgement he feels in the numerous eyes the goddesses have fixed on him.

A silver flash.

His heart drums against his ribs as a myriad of color floods the dome all around them. Iris stands before him, his favorite goddess after Aphrodite. Her presence always seems to calm him. Her warm brown eyes, her no-nonsense attitude mixing with the playful wafting of her butterfly wings seeming to buffer the heaviness of his decision and to help keep his heart aloft.

"It is vital that you hit your marks, Eros. I understand how hard it is. My sweet-natured Zephyr," she sighs, her chin trembling. "It pains me to no end at seeing him hurt, a blight put upon his character. But as Hecate has _foreseen_, and I too … the destruction that will come if we do not act …" She clasps Eros's hands in her own, squeezing them as if both offering and asking for support. "The action we ask of you is the only path we have found to effectively buy us time without breaking the laws set by the Fates."

His chin trembling, Eros nods. He squeezes Iris's hands back, agreeing without words. A love god intending to destroy love may mar his reputation for eternity, but out of love for all conscious minds – the variety of intelligence among so many beings; the emotional range of passion they inspire in one another and pass on through generations – he will accept the title of villain if it will spare a return to Chaos.

Zephyros

Zephyros stirs, his lips curving into into a smile at the gentle strokes of Apollo's hand upon his back, right between his wing joints. He keeps his wings tucked and lifted out of the way as Apollo leans in, trailing kisses along the line of his neck and shoulder. Zephyros turns his head, meeting the kiss with one of his own. Their lips brush together simply, chastely, and the domesticity of this morning routine, to Zephyros, feels somehow more intimate than even the most passionate coupling. He smiles, breaking the kiss and vanishing his wings before rolling onto his back. Apollo follows his lead, moving as if in choreographed tandem into the new position without losing contact. He settles his hips between Zephyros's thighs, propping his torso up with his arms and gazing at Zephyros with dancing eyes.

Meeting the gaze, absorbed in the endless blue - like a summer sky - Zephyros thrums with contentedness. He grins stupidly, too happy to consider how goofy he must look at such an angle. "Where are you off to this morning?"

Apollo arches one fine blond eyebrow, smirking like a cocky brat – a look Zephyros cannot get enough of – relenting as Zephyros's thumbs stroke the sides of his waist. He exhales as if suppressing a shiver. "Artemis wants me to meet her – not sure why – somewhere in the forest of Thessaly. Then Zeus wants me to check in with Hermes, make sure he's not overwhelmed. Same old, same old." He pauses, teasing one of Zephyros's nipples with a fingertip. His smirk picks up again, but instead of mischief, it seems to be charged with desire. The sight sends starbursts of _want_ rippling under Zephyros's skin, the sound of Apollo's voice amplifying them. "Give me a half-hour start, then come find me. I enjoy the caress of a gentle breeze while I'm working."

Zephyros melts at the twinkle in Apollo's eyes, his heart feeling larger, warmer than it ever has before. _Love. This must be what love actually feels like._ He nods, kissing back when Apollo leans in for just one more before sprinting out the door. Zephyros chuckles to himself at Apollo's solution to his frequent issue of getting carried away. Kiss and run: the best method of avoiding chronic lateness to his duties as well as the awkward questions that always follow.

Eros

Perched upon one of the gilded benches adorning each pillar at the Olympian gates, Eros lifts his bow, clasping it sideways in his fist, holding it aloft at eye-level. He frowns. Though he had expected the task of lighting a fire under Ganymede would prickle a bit, the taunt Ganymede had thrown back at him – that _he_ was himself a token god, a god of love who does not personally know love – hit him deeper than he'd been prepared for. Following that slight with the decision a platoon of goddesses had convinced him to make leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Best to get the unpleasant task over with as soon as possible. Get it done, get away, and nurse his wounded feelings all on his own; he finalizes his plans.

The sound of playful laughter rises behind him, deep, musical. He rolls his eyes. Exactly as expected, Apollo swoops into Eros's line of sight a second later. Unamused, Eros glares at him. It's not hard to hate how cluelessly in love Apollo is, a fact Eros does _not_ appreciate right now. Doubtless, Aphrodite had known what effect Ganymede would have on him and so planned her instructions accordingly. If she wasn't the only divine being to love him instantly and unconditionally, he'd hate her for manipulating him.

Apollo, tilts his head to the side, then gives Eros a crooked smile, an eyebrow raised. "You know, kiddo, in your chosen form that bow is far too large for you." He stands up straight, cocky as the day he was born - Eros recalls the day well - raising his arms at his sides and flexing his biceps. "See?" Apollo continues. "A bow like that requires a physique more like mine." He twists his body, showing off as he explains, entirely missing the unimpressed stare Eros gives in response. "Broad shoulders. Powerful deltoids. Ripped pectorals. With this body, I've slain countless beasts using a bow like that, even the mighty Python! But for your purposes …" He snatches a small golden arrow from the quiver on Eros's back, squinting at it, exaggerating the diminutive size. "… your love arrows, you want a smaller, more dainty bow to suit your stature."

Even as he tries to hold it back, Eros can feel his face getting puffy, his eyes threatening to fill with tears. It's all he can do to grit his teeth and focus his anger. That's the ticket. Use his emotional reactions to fuel his determination to hit his mark. Push back the understanding innate to himself, that those in a haze of love do not see the world outside their newfound perspective.

His lips twitch as he forces smile and snatches the arrow out of Apollo's hand. "Yeah? You think if I looked more like you, I'd be more effective at my job?"

Apollo relaxes his smile, apparently under the impression his thoughts on the matter are welcome. He takes a seat on the bench next to Eros, their arms brushing, his bright blue eyes shining with the love sparkle normally thrilled Eros. "Definitely. And you know I only speak the truth." Moving back an inch, Apollo leans in closer, bumping Eros in the side with his elbow. "If you were to age up your form – not dramatically – but a little closer to mine, you wouldn't long be known as the love god who doesn't have a lover."

_What the Styx is _that_ supposed to mean?_

Schooling his features into a mask of interest, seething beneath it, Eros lifts an eyebrow. "Is that what I am known as? Among the other gods or among the mortals?"

Apollo furrows his brow, his eyebrows drawing close and lifting at the middle. _He really does think he's being understanding right now. That this is comforting. The goddesses, Artemis herself included, are right in judging him in need of maturing._

"Well, both, I suppose," Apollo says, shrugging. "_I_ know that it isn't true, not entirely. Love comes in a variety of forms and it would be absurd to think that a single love god would embody all of them at once. When you're ready, or even when you least expect it, you'll find a lover that will change the way you look at the world. It may be incorrect to put it that way, as I believe you inspire this very love from simply existing. Still, you may find yourself at the mercy of the very thing you inspire because of, or in spite of, any efforts you put forward. It's brilliant really, how unpredictably love manifests." Apollo gazes out over the world beneath the shadow of Mount Olympus. He appears to be lost in a daydream, and Eros nearly loses himself along with him with the instinct to follow a lover's dream.

Searching for an anchor, Eros seizes on the perfect plan. "Apollo?" he asks, keeping his voice timid, deliberately sounding uncertain.

Apollo grins and ruffles his hair. "What's up, kiddo?"

"If I looked more like you, what sort of lover would I attract? I want to make sure they're my type, you know? Or at least something to inspire me to look forward to the future."

"That's easy," Apollo says, sizing Eros up and giving him a wink. He stands up and spends a moment focusing on a patch of forest far below. He points. "That one. Headstrong, smart, funny, loves music and nature, she has an intuitive ability to read people."

Eros puts his golden arrow to his bowstring and draws back with his arm, taking aim.

"What's her name?" he asks before Apollo turns around again, instead focusing further on the supposed perfect mate for a love god, searching out the name of his own doom.

"Daphne," Apollo declares, triumphant at finding the answer.

Eros lets his arrow fly, straight at Apollo's back and piercing his heart. Prepared by Hecate herself, this batch of arrows bears the taint of the Lethe.

Without a word, Apollo leaps off the mountain, the love in his heart reset, his new focus entirely upon claiming the chosen nymph.

At the last second before Apollo touches the ground, a thought prickles at the back of Eros's mind. _If Apollo does speak only the truth, what are the chances that the unfortunate nymph would, in fact, be the perfect match for me? If I've damned my own chances, then hers are damned as well._ He draws his bow, his aim upon Daphne, and looses an arrow of lead, countering love and damning them all.

Eros rubs at his eyes, back on his perch, refusing to succumb to the instinct to retreat to Aphrodite's comforting embrace. The wind picks up, warm and gentle, lifting his black curls and tickling his cheeks.

"Zephyr? Is that you?" he calls out, trying for all he's worth to sound surprised at finding the West Wind on Olympus.

The wind dies down momentarily, as if pausing to consider whether or not to reveal himself, and then picks back up as Zephyros appears before Eros. His skin is darker than Apollo's, and tanned darker still, but the rosy blush of a lover caught sneaking away stains his cheeks and ruins whatever alibi he and Apollo had worked out. He approaches, hands upraised.

"You caught me," he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck, the musical lilt in his voice a mixture of resignation and hope. "If it had been anybody other than you, I would have blown past."

Eros studies Zephyr's uneasy smile, the perfect example of the guilt-laden innocence of an unsanctioned love. It's Eros's favorite sort of love, the type that arises all on it's own, in spite of danger or laws to prevent it from forming. To see it now breaks his heart. It's too late to save Zephyr from his loss. Even after Eros carries out his task, Zephyr will suffer; he just won't understand why.

"It's alright," Eros says, holding out his hand and giving Zephyr's hand a squeeze when he offers it up. "As the god of love, it's impossible to pass by me unnoticed. Actually, another handsome god in a similar state passed by not too long ago. Blond, blue eyes, pretty powerful and hot as the sun? You know him?"

Zephyr's cheeks redden, even as he rolls his eyes and shrugs. He looks straight into Eros's eyes and lies. "I don't have a clue who you're talking about."

"No? Well, he gave me a message for you. But if you don't want it, then…"

Zephyr nearly jumps out of his skin. "No! No, I mean, yes. Alright. Just tell me _quietly_, please?"

Eros jumps to his feet and slings his bow across his chest, his wings twice as large as Zephyros's. "Fly with me, Zephyr. You've got Underworld access, right? He's running an errand in Elysium. We can talk shop on the way."

Upon arriving at the Isles of the Blest, Eros touches down in the most beautiful garden, watching unsurprised as Zephyr cannot resist breezing through the lush greenery, rustling every leaf as if enthralled to make them sing and dance along with him. The instant Chloris, the nymph of the garden, comes into view, Zephyr takes form, rolling in the grass and laughing as it tickles his sides. As Zephyr and Chloris lock eyes, each wondering who the other is, in that split-second, another golden arrow hits its mark. Eros retreats without a backward glance, flying as fast as his wings will carry him to the safe, secluding walls of his room in Aphrodite's palace.

Ganymede

Ganymede hums to himself, tapping his foot to keep rhythm as he chips away at a wooden panel against the far wall of his room. Every so often, he uses a brush to clear the the dust from a nearly complete rendition of an eagle's head nuzzling a youth's tight stomach. His lips turn up at the corners as he leans forward and blows the stubborn bit of sawdust caught in the finer details the brush missed. He sits back on his stool, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm and scanning the image from top to bottom and side to side for any rough patches he may have missed.

The door behind him opens with a mere whisper of a creaky hinge. With a grin, he gets to his feet. He pulls a purple wall hanging down, covering the hundreds of miniature carved images from view before slipping the upper portion of his Chiton off his shoulders and wearing it bare-chested, like a skirt. Zeus doesn't disapprove of Ganymede's hobby, but he also doesn't enjoy picking sawdust out of his beard.

Ganymede concentrates on keeping his excitement at the extra visit from showing on his face. Zeus prides himself on maintaining balance, though Ganymede does tend to convince him to show a small bit of favoritism so long as it can be managed unnoticed.

"Zeus!" he exclaims, pausing mid-step at the sight of the king of the Olympians, hunched over, his hands on his knees, and wheezing as if he were an aged mortal catching his breath. "Goodness," Ganymede says, rushing forward and slipping an arm around his lord's back. "What happened? No. Don't answer yet. Let's get you to the bed. You should lie down."

Zeus, more white and grey than salt and pepper, the age lines in his face, deeper and more numerous than they've ever appeared, leans his back against Ganymede's smooth chest, plump with youth and muscle. He places his hand, bony and curved like a talon into Ganymede's grip and chuckles softly, more wheeze than rumble. "I look like death warmed over and still your first thought is to get me into your bed. We may need to open up seeing you have your needs met by an additional source."

Ganymede remains quiet, carefully considering how to phrase his response. He taps Zeus's side, finally coaxing him to walk the short distance to the bed and then guides Zeus to lie down. He climbs onto the mattress from the other side, adjusting a king-sized pile of pillows behind Zeus's back before answering. "Zeus. We have discussed this before. I do not want my needs met for the sake of 'having my needs met', especially by somebody other than you. You, my lord, are beyond satisfying to me." As Zeus raises a bushy white eyebrow, further wrinkling his face as if calling out half-truth, it only serves to make Ganymede more passionate about driving his point home. "Yes. Even in your current state. I love you for _you_. You are the king of the heavens. Don't even try me on this. I love all of you, beyond bodies."

Sensing Zeus's habit of deflecting from what is truly bothersome by focusing on issues that strike in the opposite direction, Ganymede closes his lips over Zeus's mouth and stifles his stupid words. With a tease of tongue, Ganymede silently cheers as Zeus gives in and answers his demanding kiss with a gentle one of his own. Brushing lips and tongues, Ganymede stretches out along Zeus's side, molding their bodies together, melting in the pleasure of Zeus's mouth.

As the wheezing in Zeus's chest subsides, Ganymede pulls back to look his lover in the eyes. They're grey again, not rheumy, and the number of wrinkled lines in his face has been reduced. He smiles. "That's more like it. You feel a bit stronger now?"

Zeus scoops Ganymede's body all the way on top of himself with one arm and holds him in place, stomach to stomach, hips to hips, Zeus's hands firmly planted on Ganymede's butt cheeks. He nods, his hair looking slightly less unkempt, more grey than white. Good signs. "I am. You refresh me, beautiful boy."

Ganymede smiles and then catches another diversion attempt. Zeus's smile does not reach his eyes. Whatever is troubling him seems to be the cause of this excessive aging. "Lord Zeus. I am yours for eternity. Yours alone and what you say to me in the privacy of our bed will not leave this bed. Please trust me. Tell me what happened."

Zeus lifts a hand and cups the back of Ganymede's head before running his fingers through Ganymede's thick brown hair. He closes his eyes briefly, as if petting Ganymede relieves his stress. He opens his eyes again, focusing on Ganymede's lips instead of meeting his eyes. His voice rumbles low and deep, vibrating so Ganymede can feel it inside his own chest. "I don't know how much you will be able to understand, godling. How much can a beautiful, pure heart like yours take when faced with the pressure of holding the balance of existence in place?"

Ganymede pushes himself up with his arms, his knees straddling Zeus's hips. "Try me, Zeus. Show me you believe I am capable of being your consort, of keeping your confidence."

Zeus trails his hand from the dip between Ganymede's clavicles down his chest and stomach. "You do try me in insisting you are ready for this burden. It hasn't even been a full century since you came to live with me here." Ganymede doesn't interrupt, instead holding out a cupped hand which Zeus fills with oil and taking his time in listening, to rub the oil into Zeus's bare chest.

"Something worrisome has occurred," Zeus begins, sighing as Ganymede runs his hands in gentle strokes over the godly age-loosened skin. "It has to do with my son, Apollo. My favorite, you understand? In confidence?"

Ganymede nods, not risking a peep. Zeus does best at sharing his burdens when he feels it is on his own steam and not because of another person's demands. He'd learned that lesson ages ago.

"I am responsible for keeping the Earth and sky in perfect balance over the netherworlds, should either topple, the other would fall into ruin and all mortal life, potentially immortal life as well could be wiped out in an instant. Therefore, there are certain standards, rules of divine power and such in place to prevent displacing the current balance." He pauses, checking that Ganymede is following along. "A demigod son of Apollo flouted one of these standards, in fact working divine power into mortal means and overriding the nature dividing our realms. He raised somebody who was dead to life, withdrawing even the soul from Hades's realm not by trespassing, but by simply reigniting life into the body. If a mortal, even a half-mortal shared this knowledge, if it became widespread like the sin of Prometheus, it could unseat all of the gods. It must not happen and even though this demigod is my own grandson, when Hades alerted me to the danger, I struck him down." Ganymede's hands begin to tremble and Zeus takes them clasped between his own larger palms. "I will understand if you cannot hear the rest."

Ganymede looks up, his forehead creased. "What? No. I am following along. I've just been working my hands all day with my tools. Your touch has reinvigorated them. Please continue. What happened afterwards? Did Apollo react poorly?"

Zeus releases his grip, filling Ganymede's cupped palm with oil once more before tugging at his beard, oiling the dry strands and combing them straight with his fingers. Ganymede hides a smirk, his eyes focused on his task. Inside, he strikes up another victory dance. Zeus is finally confiding in him.

"Another rule of the divine use of power among gods is that none of us may attack the others outright using our own power. This is a vital law for safety reasons, but also carries the added burden of, in times of self-protection, requiring us to make use of other beings with power either through allegiance or by force. It also encourages the spread of our own divinity among mortals in order to create our own sources of power we can tap. It's diluted enough that it won't count as direct assault, but also a method of remaining present in the thoughts, minds, and lives of humankind."

Ganymede chances a glance at Zeus, his eyes barely concealing his amusement at what he suspects is Zeus's most compelling excuse for having such a consequence and not offering a real complaint against it. Zeus catches his drift at once.

"Well, yes. You know me more intimately than any living being. I do enjoy mixing it up a bit with the earthly women. I don't need to excuse myself for it. I'm the king of the gods." Still, he pouts his lower lip and frowns, his eyes growing round and pleading. "But you understand, don't you? Having been a mortal man among them? So much variety, so much beauty, and so fleeting. Gone in a blink. If a true jewel among gems catches my eye, I must have her because if I wait, I will have missed it."

Ganymede winks, half-smiling, half-smirking. "I tended to not notice the fairer sex, my lord. I believe I may have made a convincing argument to you for the value of the joy of similarity?"

Zeus squeezes Ganymede's right butt cheek and subtly lifts his hips, making Ganymede skip a breath at the shot of arousal racing up his spine. Zeus's godly cock bumping so close to the seat of his pleasure tempts him nearly enough to fall for yet another attempt at diversion. He takes a deep breath and releases it before returning to anointing Zeus with oil.

"I'll take that as a yes. So, Apollo? How did he react to having his son struck down by his father?"

Zeus's stops a moment, his lips paused halfway in the movement of forming words, pursed like a Satyr stopping mid chew. His features change as he fixates on a new idea that has only just occurred to him. The age lines fade before Ganymede's eyes until they are nearly gone, but for a few creases in his forehead and around his eyes. "You know, Ganymede. I believe this demigod," – he snaps his fingers recalling the name – "Asclepius. I believe he was Apollo's favorite son. In confidence, again. I do not want whispers of favoritism going beyond this bed."

Ganymede smiles, showing his teeth in his amusement. "Understood, my lord."

Zeus returns the smile, nearly melting Ganymede's heart with gladness at the sight. "I hadn't put together that Apollo would consider the justice against his favorite son as coming from his own father and taking it as a personal affront. He does understand that he is my favorite, though it was entirely accidental. When one takes up the mantle of prophecy and truth, one tends to be able to read signs that are typically hidden." Zeus drums his fingers against Ganymede's skin as if thinking allowed. "He was not so troublesome a hundred years back. Remember? Shortly after you came to live with me? He was the epitome of divine perfection. And then one day, like a switch was flipped in his personality, he began chasing after nymphs, coercing mortal women and men alike into overly desperate relationships. He doesn't have …" Zeus stops, his lips puckering as he searches for words to properly describe his thought, "… we'll say the _capability_ at seducing the women as he does with young men. It may be his inability to speak untruth that messes it up, but nearly all of his conquests end up dead within a year of engaging with him. The exception are the first couple Pythia and of course, his gaggle of muses. But as the muses never really challenge him, he is never satisfied. Anyway. Moving beyond poor Apollo's horrible track record at finding love, he's very much actively striving to push me too far. I do not know what outcome he expects from it. What good would it be to push me to throw him into Tartarus?"

Ganymede hums softly under his breath, waiting until Zeus lifts his chin, his godly thumb brushing back and forth over Ganymede's lower lip. "Please feel free to speak. I would be honored to hear your thoughts, Ganymede."

Wetting his lips absently, Ganymede feels his face flush but doesn't let it keep him from answering. "You hit on something before, my lord, that I think you ought to return to. The concept of a father losing a favored son by his own father's hand. If you look at the incident from Apollo's point of view, by instead thinking what it would be like if Apollo was murdered, blown to bits that even Tartarus could not regenerate, and the responsible person was your own father, Chronos … How would you feel and what would you do if Chronos held the highest place of power and it was impossible to unseat him?"

Zeus's grey eyes seem to shatter with sparks of lightning flashing in their depths. He holds tight to Ganymede's gaze. "If it was Apollo himself, the god to whom I have entrusted the power of prophecy and truth, and even lighting the very sky, not counting his unique dominions over so many other vital aspects of creation and destruction and enjoyment of life ... and he was destroyed to the point of no return, and I was at the mercy of my tyrant father with no hope of overthrowing him. Well, that's not comparable, is it?"

Ganymede shrugs, raising his eyebrows. "Is it not?"

"Apollo retaliated against _me_ by killing the cyclopes who forged my master bolt! Until they reform in Tartarus and rise up again, if anything were to happen to my instrument of power, we'd be looking at potentially a thousand years of disorder. He did that! Risked that! I cannot readily forgive him, though I would in an instant if he would stop challenging me. How do I punish him and make him understand why he must not do these things? How do I do it in such a way the other god will not question my judgement?"

Ganymede phrases his next sentence as simply and honestly as he can, taking care to avoid any sense of judgement from being present in his tone. Only concern for Zeus's own well-being motivates him to say what he feels Zeus must hear.

"Zeus, you are diverting the conversation again to avoid facing a truth you need to face." At the sight of Zeus's black eyebrows drawing together, his eyes sparking with danger, Ganymede explains himself further. "If you would actually seek to understand what it is Apollo is trying to accomplish in trying your patience and even testing your wrath out in the open where all the other gods will see, you must consider what your own response would be if you were in Apollo's place with the power structure stacked impossibly against you."

Zeus relaxes his furrowed brow a bit, though his eyebrows twitch with the tension of holding his anger at bay. "Before I overthrew my father, he favored me. Not as a son, by any means. He had no idea I was his son, but he enjoyed my company and employed me as his cup-bearer. I was always angry with him, pretending to be his loyal servant, plotting all the while how to remove him from power. If he had killed Apollo and I was still under his rule, he'd have snuffed out the light of the world and my pride and joy. I would probably have lost the will to fight to free the other gods. If it happened afterwards, during the war that followed, I would have lost the will to fight to take the titan power structure down. I would have pushed him until he killed me and probably in such a way that I would take as many titans down along with me."

Ganymede nods, his chin trembling because Zeus's chin was trembling. He swallows, though it doesn't make his throat feel less dry, does nothing to ease the next part he has to say. "I think … I think that _that_ may be Apollo's very motivation, my lord. As you have acknowledged, Apollo is creative and equally destructive. I believe that Apollo, knowing what he means to you, is driving you to destroy him because that would – in essence mean that he will push you to destroy yourself." Ganymede pauses, gauging Zeus's reaction. He goes on, his voice more timid and careful, but his thoughts undiluted. "Zeus, love – if he does push you to the point you throw him into Tartarus …"

Zeus stops his words with a lifted finger, his eyes closed as if he is struggling to maintain his composure. "It won't come to that. I have him detained. Ares and Hephaestus have him trussed up, Athena supervising. Apollo is too powerful to simply scold. He's also not likely to change his mind if he perceives himself in the right. I don't know what to do. I know what you were going to say, what would my reaction be if I actually made such an unthinkable choice. Please do not make me say it out loud. I trust you, but I do not trust myself to not bring a self-fulfilling curse down upon the …" He stops again, waving the concept aside. It sends a shiver running up the length of Ganymede's spine, and from the corner of his eyes, he catches an impossible glimpse, recognizing it without knowing why: the shadow of Zeus's half-spoken thought.

In need of comfort himself, as well as in order to lull Zeus back into his powerful bearing of an almighty divinity, Ganymede lowers himself until they lie chest to chest. Zeus's skin restored to it's normal tight elasticity, his pectorals ripped and larger by half as Ganymede's. He tucks his face beneath Zeus's shoulder, sinking into Zeus's tight embrace, their heartbeats matching, a loving warmth flooding Ganymede's body as if pouring in from all directions.

"I know what I must do," Zeus says at last. His voice sounds finally at peace, having considered the problem and settled on the most beneficial solution. "I know how to reach him, how to make things right."

"What will you do?" Ganymede asks. He's not sure if he's more afraid of hearing Zeus give a misguided solution that will further alienate him from his son, or if he's more curious just how much the king of the Olympians can learn and grow from being able to talk through his fears.

Zeus strokes the back of Ganymede's head, gently smoothing his hair. "I will talk to Apollo privately. I will agree to raise Asclepius from the dead, despite Hades's protests. There's a loophole if he goes from dead to divinity. And then Asclepius will be Apollo's lieutenant, and he must understand the dead may not again be raised without my consent or knowledge. But for killing the elder cyclopes, the makers of the master bolt, Apollo must face a punishment. I know how Apollo thrives from being free to explore and to create, so as punishment, he will forfeit his immortality and sell himself into slavery for a term of at least a year, this after he finds one who will take him. And for the duration of life as a mortal, he must not fully reveal his true identity. I will not prevent him from doing so after his time is served and his immortality has been restored. Apollo, I think, will consider this a just and fair punishment and I believe the other gods will be satisfied by the severity. I cannot see the majority of them as willing to take on the same deal."

Ganymede smiles, tucking his face into Zeus's chest, stifling his happiness at having served his purpose well.

"What do you think? What?" Zeus pokes him, "What's funny?"

When Ganymede refuses to answer because only sappy love adorations are likely to come out, Zeus gets him where he's vulnerable and begins massaging his scalp. Zeus's fingertips, wake up erogenous zones Ganymede never suspected he had without any effort. If Zeus keeps it up, he's going to …

Present Day

Zephyros

"That's enough! Stop watching! Close your eyes!"

Zephyros blinks, his neck kinking. He makes out the blurred image of Ganymede flat on his back at Zephyros's side and holding a remote control extended toward the ceiling. His arm drops, hitting the mattress with a thud as if the effort of lifting it had drained his strength.

"What the? Where?" Zephyros rasps. "What the bluster is going on?"


	35. Chapter 35

Zephyros

"My head," Zephyros groans, pressing his hands to his temples as he rolls himself into a seated position boosted by his elbows. The room spins as he regains his focus, his eyes finally landing upon Ganymede again. "What was that even?"

Ganymede stares blankly up at the ceiling, still flat on his back, his eyes wide. "I have no idea what that was, Zephyr. Upon my honor. I thought all the memories in that reel were yours."

_Oh, right,_ Zephyros recalls. He remembers now. Ganymede, in an effort to prove he meant no ill will, had offered to share all the memory records bearing Zephyros's name. As there hadn't been much to do to pass the time locked away, Zephyros had readily agreed, though every time he'd tried to ask about Zeus's changing personality, the atmosphere had grown cold and Ganymede refused to talk about it.

Thinking back over the last of the memories, the ones that seemed to put the viewer into the very mind and moment of the memory owner, only one had belonged to Zephyros. The others had come from Ganymede and – Zephyros gulps – Eros himself. Even being free from his enslavement to Eros, the fear of crossing his master's personal boundaries dies hard.

"I had no idea _I_ was missing any memories," Ganymede says, his voice small. "I think I –" he trails off, perhaps realizing he doesn't want to share whatever revelation he'd had.

Zephyros barely notices the silence hanging between them growing longer as his thoughts dwell upon the memories. That last morning before Eros had diverted Apollo and his fates, he'd been so happy. It's hard to stop the bitterness from rising up in his chest.

"Idiots, the pair of you," a gentle voice says, carried through the room on a waft of rose-scented air.

They startle at the sound, gaping stupidly without direction in search of the source. Zephyros's eyes land on a faint spot of color at the keyhole in the door. As he watches, it begins to glow with a purplish light, bleeding into reds and blues before refracting into a full rainbow spectrum upon the floor tiles. The lock clicks and, with a long creak, the door swings open.

Zephyros's face splits into a huge smile as Iris flutters into the room, the door closing behind her. He stands up, weak in the knees, his wings spread to keep his balance. "Iris! My hero! You came to rescue me?"

She greets him with a hug and presses a kiss to his cheek before pulling back and lifting her eyebrows. Her warm brown eyes move between him and Ganymede, now struggling to get to his feet, then lift to the ceiling as if she's praying for patience. Focusing upon them again, she claps her hands before rubbing them together. "Right then, to business. The memories you two have just witnessed were harvested by Hecate and if you had been _paying attention_, the reason she took them ought to be clear enough."

Zephyros shrugs, glancing at Ganymede. Ganymede, on the other hand, holds Iris's gaze. He seems to have caught her drift.

"You mean the plan? Hecate, you, Aphrodite, Artemis and Nemesis. You're all in it together and if those of us who witnessed pieces of it hadn't had our memories taken, we could have messed it all up?"

Iris purses her lips thoughtfully, nodding in consideration. "Yes. That's a simplification, but pretty much correct. And now … it's time for the big showdown. We determined it was best that you go forward to meet it with your memories restored. Hopefully, you'll be able to see the bigger picture."

"And Eros?" Zephyros asks, the name sour on his tongue.

Iris waves her hand dismissively. "Eros personally requested Hecate hold onto his memories of the ordeal. He has never entirely approved of the plan. It wasn't until he took up with Psyche that he had an accurate measure of his own power, after all. We used him, true. But for the sake of all life, _love_ is the only force that can alter the course set by the Fates, that can create an alternate path where there wasn't one before. I know, Zephyr, you have trouble reconciling your faithfulness to him. You have always been faithful to love, even before your service to Eros. He offered you shelter when you needed to be sheltered. He prevented you from becoming corrupted. Apollo grows stronger under trials and tribulations; you do not. I'm not saying this to judge you. You are precious to me and I am so glad you were spared the pitfalls that could have ensnared you."

Scarcely are her last words out, a ghastly shriek blasts the quiet from the room with such force, the very walls tremble. His ears ringing, Zephyros stares dumbfounded as Iris clasps a hand to her chest and disappears in a burst of rainbow mist, her lips mouthing what looked like _my lady._

It takes a moment for him to realize Ganymede is trying to get his attention, yanking the side of his tank top.

"What's that?" he shouts at Ganymede, his hearing returning as Ganymede grimaces and rubs at his ear.

"The door," Ganymede says. He steps forward and tries the knob. It turns. He pulls it open. "Now's your chance to escape."

His mind still spinning from the memory trip, Iris's revelations and sudden departure, Zephyros hesitates at the threshold. He looks back. "What about you?"

Ganymede wrinkles his brow, his teeth worrying his lower lip. He folds his arms across his chest, holding onto his biceps. "I – I have to stay put. I don't know what's going on downstairs, but trust me when I say it'll be worse for me if I put myself between Zeus and Hera."

Zephyros lifts an eyebrow and cocks his head as if to say _what have you really got to lose?_

Ganymede blows a few stray hairs out of his face, tapping his foot impatiently. "Look, the door's unlocked. I need to think about it. Process some shit first, okay? _You_ shouldn't be here. So scram. Go and be the big brave god that caught Apollo's fancy."

"O – kay…" Zephyros gets the sense that Ganymede is hiding something, that he's about to embark on a whole other plan that he doesn't want Zephyros to interrupt. The vibes pouring off him scream _kamikaze mission_. "Look…" Zephyros rests his hand on Ganymede's shoulder. "You've been there for me enough times in the past. I just want you to know …" He hesitates only a moment, sensing Ganymede's desire to cut him off. "He's mad about you. If he was forced to choose – without any outside pressure – he'd pick you. You have more power than the Olympian gods know, you have a dominion and it is over the heart of their king."

Ganymede rolls his eyes, a flush staining his cheeks. He knocks Zephyros's hand off his shoulder and gives his chest a shove, making Zephyros take a step backward over the threshold. The corners of his mouth turned up, Ganymede's mouths the words: _I know_ before shutting the door in Zephyros's face.

XxxX

Zephyros descends the winding tower staircase in a breeze, stretching out his essence beyond the confines of a mortal body. Fear doesn't grip him so sharply in such a state, thoughts and emotions don't strike him as deep. He isn't sure what his next move ought to be, but as dust from the ceiling gets caught up in his drafts, the support columns groaning as cracks appear in their bases, he considers bolting for the exit. Apollo would know better than he what to do next.

He hesitates at the doorway to the courtyard when a voice behind him draws his focus.

"I need to … I don't _make_ mistakes … No. That isn't true. I do. I hide them. Silence the witnesses or reverse an accusation. I've fallen into a trap of my own making – no longer recognizing my own faults."

Athena stands at the base of one of the columns leading to the staircase he'd just descended, only her bearing doesn't match her typical warrior stance. Her dark hair, normally swept up neatly in a high Grecian ponytail, sticks to her neck in several places and stands upright with static in others. Her armour straps are crooked and as she paces before the staircase entrance, talking aloud to herself, she nearly drops her battle helmet from where she carries it tucked under her arm.

Zephyros pulls himself back into his mortal form without thinking. He can't help it. He'd spoken to Athena only yesterday. What could have occurred in such a short timespan to dishevel the goddess of wisdom and strategy? At this thought, a crash sounds from behind the throne room doors, followed by shouting voices and sending another shower of dust falling from the ceiling.

Athena doesn't appear to have noticed the disarray or his presence as she clutches her helmet to her chest, continuing to talk to herself. "It is only a minor issue. All gods …"

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Zephyros asks, without sparing a thought about whether it's stupid of him to interrupt. When she startles and meets his eyes, he continues before he can talk himself out of it. "I won't judge you."

Her eyes narrow and she straightens her back, her grip tightening on her helmet. She seems to assess him as if she had X-ray vision, finally relaxing her shoulders and sighing. "No. _You_ wouldn't. But if our positions were reversed, I _would_judge you. Harshly."

A glimpse of a familiar lobby flashes in Zephyros's mind's eye, vanishing just as quickly. He jumps on it. "It has to do with the Lotus Casino, what's troubling you."

Athena's eyes flash dangerously, her features drawing up in rage and just as quickly, falling. Her forehead creases, her eyes growing wide. Her helmet shimmers and vanishes from her arms, startling her. She looks down at her empty hands. "I am supposed to be the goddess of wisdom," she says, her voice quiet. She looks up again at Zephyros. "When I pass judgement on others, I stick to the objective facts. I do consider circumstances, but seldom emotions. I don't have the capacity to keep a broader outlook. I ought to. I think at one time I did." She wraps her arms around herself like a self-soothing hug. "Part of me is missing. I know it sounds ridiculous, but …" She trails off again, her eyes drifting to the throne room doors as if seeing through them. "Zeus. I have been his helm, his general, his counsel in strategy since the day I was born. I never questioned him. He is both my mother and my father. They are one and the same now. Metis sacrificed her identity in order to create enough noise inside his brain that he would split his own skull to silence it and enable me to escape. She poured every last ounce of herself out in order to be absorbed by him. Now, I can see he is cursed. He broke the laws of the Fates when he absorbed her. She can no longer bear him a son and so the prophecy of that son usurping his father, providing a new power source for the next age cannot take place. His own power has grown unstable, corrupted. He'd rather take all of existence down with him than forfeit control. I cannot abide it any longer. It makes me question if I have been tainted by this same corruption, if it isn't the very thing that keeps me from seeing myself objectively and prevents me from expanding my wisdom beyond my current shortfallings."

"Athena," Zephyros says, feeling very much as though he is interrupting. The way Athena has been speaking feels more as if he's witnessing her arguing with herself than talking to him. "What shortfallings? What happened that made you think about the Lotus Casino just now?"

Slowly, her gaze shifts from the throne room doors back to Zephyros, her eyes softer than he's ever seen them before. "It may already be too late. Right now in that throne room … I must … I need to make a choice. Stand beside Zeus and fulfil my duty or … or own up to my mistake. I cannot see a positive outcome from either path and so … I will do what he will not. I'm leaving. It may be the only chance I have to stand on my own."

Before Zephyros can push for any further explanation, golden flames erupt all around her and she vanishes along with them as suddenly as they had appeared, leaving him shaken and alone before the throne room doors. The absence of shouting voices behind them makes the silence that falls that much more formidable.


End file.
